LIBRARY  OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 
AT  URBANA-CHAMPAICN 


839.83 


The  person  charging  this  material  is  re- 
sponsible for  its  return  to  the  library  from 
which  it  was  withdrawn  on  or  before  the 
Latest  Date  stamped  below. 

Theft,  mutilation,  and  underlining  of  books 
are  reasons  for  disciplinary  action  and  may 
result  in  dismissal  from  the  University. 

UNIVERSITY    OF    ILLINOIS    LIBRARY    AT    URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 


MAR  2  9  197!) 
MAY  2  6 19?p 

JULIO 


L161  — O-1096 


SHALLOW  SOIL 


BY 

KNUT    HAMSUN 


AUTHORISED    TRANSLATION     FROM    THE     NORWEGIAN     BY 

CARL  CHRISTIAN  HYLLESTED 


LONDON 

DUCKWORTH   &   CO. 
1914 


Copyright,  1914,  by  Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  for  the 
United  States  of  America 

Printed  by  the  Scribner  Press 
New  York,  U.  S.  A. 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE 

IN  the  autumn  of  1888  a  Danish  magazine  pub- 
lished a  few  chapters  of  an  autobiographical  novel 
which  instantly  created  the  greatest  stir  in  literary 
circles  throughout  Europe.  At  that  tune  Ibsen, 
Bjornson,  Brandes,  Strindberg,  and  other  Scandi- 
navian writers  were  at  the  height  of  their  cosmo- 
politan fame,  and  it  was  only  natural  that  the 
reading  world  should  keep  in  close  touch  with 
the  literary  production  of  the  North.  But  even  the 
professional  star-gazers,  who  maintained  a  vigilant 
watch  on  northern  skies,  had  never  come  across  the 
name  of  Knut  Hamsun.  He  was  unknown;  what- 
ever slight  attention  his  earlier  struggles  for  recog- 
nition may  have  attracted  was  long  ago  forgotten. 
And  now  he  blazed  forth  overnight,  with  meteoric 
suddenness,  with  a  strange,  fantastic,  intense  bril- 
liance which  could  only  emanate  from  a  star  of  the 
first  magnitude. 

Sudden  as  was  Hamsun's  recognition,  however, 
it  has  proved  lasting.  The  story  of  his  rise  from 
obscurity  to  fame  is  one  of  absorbing  interest.  Be- 
hind that  hour  of  triumph  lay  a  long  and  bitter 


vi  TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE 

struggle,  weary  years  of  striving,  of  constant  and 
courageous  battle  with  a.  destiny  that  strewed  his 
path  with  disappointments  and  defeats,  overwhelm- 
ing him  with  adversities  that  would  have  swamped  a 
genius  of  less  energy  and  real  power. 

Knut  Hamsun  began  life  in  one  of  the  deep  Nor- 
wegian valleys  familiar  to  English  readers  through 
Bjornson's  earlier  stories.  He  was  born  in  August, 
1860.  When  he  was  four  years  old  his  poverty- 
stricken  parents  sent  him  to  an  uncle,  a  stern,  un- 
lovely man  who  made  his  home  on  one  of  the  Lofoten 
Islands — that  " Drama  in  Granite"  which  Norway's 
rugged  coast-line  flings  far  into  the  Arctic  night. 
Here  he  grew  up,  a  taciturn,  peculiar  lad,  inured 
to  hardship  and  danger,  in  close  communion  with 
nature;  dreaming  through  the  endless  northern  twi- 
light, revelling  through  the  brief  intense  summer, 
surrounded  by  influences  and  by  an  atmosphere 
which  later  were  to  give  to  his  production  its  strange, 
mystical  colouring,  its  pendulum-swings  from  ex- 
treme to  extreme. 

At  seventeen  he  was  apprenticed  to  a  cobbler, 
and  while  working  at  his  trade  he  wrote  and,  at  the 
cost  of  no  one  knows  what  sacrifices,  saved  enough 
money  to  have  his  first  literary  efforts  printed  and 
published.  They  consisted  of  a  long,  fantastic  poem 
and  a  novel,  "Bjorger" — the  latter  a  grotesque  con- 
glomeration of  intense  self-analytical  studies.  These 
attracted  far  less  attention  than  they  really  deserved. 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE  vii 

However,  the  cobbler's  bench  saw  no  more  of  Knut 
Hamsun. 

During  the  next  twelve  years  he  led  the  life  of  a 
rover,  but  a  rover  with  a  fixed  purpose  from  which 
he  never  swerved.  First  he  turned  his  face  toward 
Christiania,  the  capital  and  the  intellectual  centre 
of  the  country;  and  hi  order  to  get  there  he  worked 
at  anything  that  offered  itself.  He  was  a  longshore- 
man on  Bodo's  docks,  a  road-labourer,  a  lumber- 
jack in  the  mountains;  a  private  tutor  and  court 
messenger.  Finally  he  reached  the  metropolis  and 
enrolled  as  a  student  at  the  university.  But  the 
gaunt,  raw-boned  youth,  unpractical  and  improvi- 
dent, overbearing  of  manner,  passionately  hide- 
pendent  in  thought  and  conduct,  failed  utterly  hi 
his  attempts  to  realise  whatever  ambitions  he  had 
cherished.  So  it  was  hardly  strange  that  this  the 
first  chapter  of  his  Odyssey  should  end  hi  the  steer- 
age of  an  American-bound  emigrant  steamer. 

In  America,  where  he  landed  penniless,  he  turned 
his  strong  and  capable  hands  to  whatever  labour  he 
could  find.  He  had  intended  to  become  a  Unitarian 
minister.  Instead  of  doing  so  he  had  to  work  as  a 
farm-hand  on  the  prairie,  street-car  conductor  in 
Chicago,  dairyman  in  Dakota;  and  he  varied  these 
pursuits  by  giving  a  series  of  lectures  on  French 
literature  in  Minneapolis.  By  that  time  he  prob- 
ably imagined  that  he  was  equipped  for  a  more  suc- 
cessful attack  on  the  literary  strongholds  of  his  own 


x  TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE 

shines  with  undimmed  brilliance — nay,  with  a  purer, 
warmer,  steadier  flame.  The  volcanic  violence  of 
earlier  days  has  been  mellowed  and  subdued;  the 
"red  eruptions  of  flame-tongued,  primeval  power" 
have  all  but  ceased.  In  one  of  his  latest  works  Ham- 
sun himself  notes  this  change  in  saying:  "When  a 
wanderer  reaches  fifty  years  he  plays  with  muted 
strings."  But  with  or  without  the  sordine  Hamsun's 
production  is  equally  seductive,  equally  entrancing 
and  compelling.  All  over  the  continent  of  Europe 
he  is  known  and  his  writings  treasured;  in  Russia 
his  popularity  exceeds  that  of  many  of  its  own  in- 
imitable writers.  It  is  to  be  expected  that  the 
English-speaking  world  will  accord  him  that  appre- 
ciation which  is  the  natural  tribute  to  genius,  irre- 
spective of  language  or  clime. 

CARL  CHR.  HYLLESTED. 

NEW  YORK,  December,  1913. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


PROLOGUE      1 

GERMINATION 65 

RIPENING       139 

SIXTYFOLD 201 

FINALE  269 


PROLOGUE 


PROLOGUE 


A  FAINT,  golden,  metallic  rim  appears  in  the 
east  where  the  sun  is  rising.  The  city  is  be- 
ginning to  stir;  already  can  be  heard  an  occasional 
distant  rumble  of  trucks  rolling  into  the  streets  from 
the  country,  large  farm-wagons  heavily  loaded  with 
supplies  for  the  markets — with  hay  and  meat  and 
cordwood.  And  these  wagons  make  more  noise  than 
usual  because  the  pavements  are  still  brittle  from 
nightly  frosts.  It  is  the  latter  part  of  March. 

Everything  is  quiet  around  the  harbour.  Here 
and  there  a  sleepy  sailor  tumbles  out  of  a  forecastle; 
smoke  is  curling  from  the  galleys.  A  skipper  puts 
his  head  out  of  a  companionway  and  sniffs  toward 
the  weather;  the  sea  stretches  in  undisturbed  calm; 
all  the  winches  are  at  rest. 

The  first  wharf  gate  is  thrown  open.  Through  it 
one  catches  a  glimpse  of  sacks  and  cases  piled  high, 
of  cans  and  barrels;  men  with  ropes  and  wheel- 
barrows are  moving  around,  still  half  asleep,  yawn- 
ing openly  with  angular,  bearded  jaws.  And  barges 

3 


4  SHALLOW  SOIL 

are  warped  in  alongside  the  docks;  another  army 
begins  the  hoisting  and  stowing  of  goods,  the  load- 
ing of  wagons,  and  the  moving  of  freight. 

In  the  streets  one  door  after  another  is  opened; 
blinds  are  raised,  office-boys  are  sweeping  floors  and 
dusting  counters.  In  the  H.  Henriksen  office  the 
son  is  sitting  at  a  desk,  all  alone;  he  is  sorting  mail. 
A  young  gentleman  is  strolling,  tired  and  sleepy, 
toward  the  railway  square;  he  comes  from  a  late 
party  given  in  some  comrade's  den  and  is  taking 
the  morning  air.  At  Fire  Headquarters  he  runs 
across  an  acquaintance  who  has  also  been  celebrat- 
ing. 

"Abroad  so  early,  Ojen?"  asks  the  first  stroller. 
"Yes — that  is  to  say,  I  haven't  been  in  bed  yet!" 
"Neither  have  I,"  laughs  the  first.   "Good  night!" 
And  he  wanders  on,  smiling  in  amusement  over 
that  good  night  on  a  bright  and  sunny  morning.     He 
is  a  young  and  promising  man;   his  name  had  sud- 
denly become  famous  two  years  ago  when  he  pub- 
lished a  lyric  drama.    His  name  is  Irgens;   every- 
body knows  him.    He  wears  patent-leather  shoes 
and  is  good-looking,  with  his  curled  moustache  and 
his  sleek,  dark  hair. 

He  drifts  from  one  market  square  to  another;  it 
amuses  him,  sleepy  as  he  is,  to  watch  the  farmers 
who  are  invading  the  public  squares  with  then- 
trucks.  The  spring  sun  has  browned  their  faces; 
they  wear  heavy  mufflers  around  their  necks,  and 


PROLOGUE  5 

their  hands  are  sinewy  and  dirty.  They  are  in  such 
a  hurry  to  sell  their  wares  that  they  even  hail  him, 
a  youth  of  twenty-four  without  a  family,  a  lyric 
writer  who  is  simply  loitering  at  random  in  order 
to  divert  himself. 

The  sun  climbs  higher.  Now  people  begin  to 
swarm  in  all  directions;  shrill  whistles  are  heard, 
now  from  the  factories  in  the  city  suburbs,  now 
from  the  railway  stations  and  docks;  the  traffic  in- 
creases. Busy  workers  dart  hither  and  thither — 
some  munching  their  breakfast  from  newspaper  par- 
cels. A  man  pushes  an  enormous  load  of  bundles 
on  a  push-cart,  he  is  delivering  groceries;  he  strains 
like  a  horse  and  reads  addresses  from  a  note-book 
as  he  hurries  along.  A  child  is  distributing  morn- 
ing papers;  she  is  a  little  girl  who  has  Saint  Vitus's 
dance;  she  jerks  her  angular  body  in  all  directions, 
twitches  her  shoulders,  blinks,  hustles  from  door  to 
door,  climbs  the  stairs  in  the  high-storied  houses, 
presses  bells,  and  hurries  on,  leaving  papers  on  every 
doorstep.  A  dog  follows  her  and  makes  every  trip 
with  her. 

Traffic  and  noise  increase  and  spread;  begin- 
ning at  the  factories,  the  wharves,  the  shipyards,  and 
the  sawmills,  they  mingle  with  wagon  rumblings  and 
human  voices;  the  air  is  rent  by  steam- whistles  whose 
agonising  wails  rise  skyward,  meeting  and  blending 
above  the  large  squares  in  a  booming  diapason,  a 
deep-throated,  throbbing  roar  that  enwraps  the  en- 


6  SHALLOW  SOIL 

tire  city.  Telegraph  messengers  dart  hither  and 
yon,  scattering  orders  and  quotations  from  distant 
markets.  The  powerful,  vitalising  chant  of  com- 
merce booms  through  the  air;  the  wheat  in  India, 
the  coffee  in  Java  promise  well;  the  Spanish  mar- 
kets are  crying  for  fish — enormous  quantities  of  fish 
during  Lent. 

It  is  eight  o'clock;  Irgens  starts  for  home.  He 
passes  H.  Henriksen's  establishment  and  decides  to 
drop  in  a  moment.  The  son  of  the  house,  a  young 
man  in  a  business  suit  of  cheviot,  is  still  busy  at 
his  desk.  His  eyes  are  large  and  blue,  although  his 
complexion  is  rather  dark  otherwise;  a  stray  wisp 
of  hair  sags  untidily  over  his  forehead.  The  tall, 
somewhat  gaunt  and  taciturn  fellow  looks  about 
thirty  years  old.  His  comrades  value  him  highly 
because  he  helps  them  a  good  deal  with  money  and 
articles  of  commerce  from  the  firm's  cellars. 

"Good  morning!"  calls  Irgens. 

The  other  looks  up  in  surprise. 

"What — you?    Are  you  abroad  so  early?" 

"Yes.  That  is  to  say,  I  haven't  been  to  bed 
yet." 

"Oh — that's  different.  I  have  been  at  my  desk 
since  five;  I  have  cabled  to  three  countries  already." 

"Good  Lord — you  know  I  am  not  the  least  inter- 
ested in  your  trading!  There  is  only  one  thing  I 
want  to  discuss  with  you,  Ole  Henriksen;  have  you 
got  a  drink  of  brandy?" 


PROLOGUE  7 

The  two  men  leave  the  office  and  pass  through  the 
store  down  into  the  cellar.  Ole  Henriksen  pulls  a 
cork  hurriedly;  his  father  is  expected  any  moment, 
and  for  this  reason  he  is  in  haste.  The  father  is  old, 
but  that  is  no  reason  why  he  should  be  ignored. 

Irgens  drinks  and  says:  "Can  I  take  the  bottle 
along?"  And  Ole  Henriksen  nods. 

On  their  way  back  through  the  store  he  pulls  out 
a  drawer  from  the  counter,  and  Irgens,  who  under- 
stands the  hint,  takes  something  from  the  drawer 
which  he  puts  in  his  mouth.  It  is  coffee,  roasted 
coffee;  good  for  the  breath. 


II 

AT  two  o'clock  people  swarm  up  and  down  the 
promenade.  They  chat  and  laugh  in  all  manner 
of  voices,  greet  each  other,  smile,  nod,  turn  around, 
shout.  Cigar  smoke  and  ladies'  veils  flutter  in  the 
air;  a  kaleidoscopic  confusion  of  light  gloves  and 
handkerchiefs,  of  bobbing  hats  and  swinging  canes, 
glides  down  the  street  along  which  carriages  drive 
with  ladies  and  gentlemen  in  stylish  attire. 

Several  young  gentlemen  have  taken  their  accus- 
tomed stand  at  "The  Corner."  They  form  a  circle 
of  acquaintances — a  couple  of  artists,  a  couple  of 
authors,  a  business  man,  an  undefinable — comrades 
all.  They  are  dressed  variously:  some  have  al- 
ready dispensed  with  their  overcoats,  others  wear 
long  ulsters  with  turned-up  collars  as  in  midwinter. 
Everybody  knows  "the  clique." 

Some  join  it  while  others  depart;  there  remain  a 
young,  corpulent  artist  by  the  name  of  Milde,  and 
an  actor  with  a  snub  nose  and  a  creamy  voice;  also 
Irgens,  and  Attorney  Grande  of  the  prominent 
Grande  family.  The  most  important,  however,  is 
Paulsberg,  Lars  Paulsberg,  the  author  of  half  a  dozen 

8 


PROLOGUE  9 

novels  and  a  scientific  work  on  the  Atonement.     He 
is  loudly  referred  to  as  the  Poet,  even  though  both 
Irgens  and  Ojen  are  present. 
The  Actor  buttons  his  ulster  tightly  and  shivers. 

"No — spring-time  is  a  little  too  chilly  to  suit  me," 
he  says. 

' '  The  contrary  here ! ' '  exclaims  the  Attorney.  ' '  I 
could  shout  all  the  time;  I  am  neighing  inwardly; 
my  blood  sings  a  hunting  chorus!"  And  the  little 
stooping  youth  straightens  his  shoulders  and 
glances  secretly  at  Paulsberg. 

"Listen  to  that!"  says  the  Actor  sarcastically. 
"A  man  is  a  man,  as  the  eunuch  said." 

"What  does  that  remark  signify?" 

"Nothing,  God  bless  you!  But  you  in  your  pat- 
ent leathers  and  your  silk  hat  hunting  wolves — the 
idea  appealed  to  my  sense  of  humour." 

"Ha,  ha!  I  note  the  fact  that  Norem  has  a  sense 
of  humour!  Let  us  duly  appreciate  it." 

They  spoke  with  practised  ease  about  everything, 
had  perfect  control  over  their  words,  made  quick 
sallies,  and  were  skilled  in  repartee. 

A  number  of  cadets  were  passing. 

"Did  you  ever  see  anything  as  flabby  as  these 
military  youths! "  said  Irgens.  "Look  at  them;  they 
do  not  walk  past  like  other  mortals,  they  stalk 
past!" 

Both  Irgens  and  the  Artist  laughed  at  this,  but 
the  Attorney  glanced  quickly  at  Paulsberg,  whose 


10  SHALLOW  SOIL 

face  remained  immovable.  Paulsberg  made  a  few 
remarks  about  the  Art  Exhibition  and  was  silent. 

The  conversation  drifted  to  yesterday's  perform- 
ance in  Tivoli,  and  from  there  to  political  subjects. 
Of  course,  they  could  refuse  to  pass  all  financial 
bills,  but —  And  perhaps  there  was  not  even  a 
sufficient  majority  to  defeat  the  government  budget. 
It  certainly  looked  dubious — rotten —  They  cited 
quotations  from  leading  parliamentarians,  they  pro- 
posed to  put  the  torch  to  the  Castle  and  proclaim 
the  republic  without  delay.  The  Artist  threatened 
a  general  revolt  of  the  labouring  classes.  "Do  you 
know  what  the  Speaker  told  me  in  confidence? 
That  he  never,  never  would  agree  to  a  compromise 
— rather  let  the  Union  sink  or  swim !  '  Sink  or  swim/ 
these  were  his  very  words.  And  when  one  knows 
the  Speaker 

Still  Paulsberg  did  not  say  anything,  and  as  the 
comrades  were  eager  to  hear  his  opinion,  the  At- 
torney finally  ventured  to  address  him: 

"And  you,  Paulsberg,  you  don't  say  a  word?" 

Paulsberg  very  seldom  spoke;  he  had  kept  to 
himself  and  to  his  studies  and  his  literary  tasks, 
and  lacked  the  verbal  facility  of  his  comrades.  He 
smiled  good-naturedly  and  answered: 

"Let  your  communication  be  Yea,  yea,  and  Nay, 
nay/  you  know!"  At  this  they  all  laughed  loudly. 
"But  otherwise,"  he  added,  "apart  from  that  I  am 
seriously  considering  going  home  to  my  wife." 


PROLOGUE  11 

And  Paulsberg  went.  It  was  his  wont  to  go 
when  he  said  he  would. 

But  after  Paulsberg's  departure  it  seemed  as  if 
they  might  as  well  all  go;  there  was  no  reason  to 
remain  now.  The  Actor  saluted  and  disappeared; 
he  hurried  off  in  order  to  catch  up  with  Paulsberg. 
The  Painter  threw  his  ulster  around  himself  with- 
out buttoning  it,  drew  up  his  shoulders,  and  said: 

"I  feel  rotten!  If  a  fellow  could  only  afford  a 
little  dinner!" 

"You  must  try  and  strike  a  huckster,"  said  Ir- 
gens.  "I  struck  one  for  a  brandy  this  morning." 

"I  am  wondering  what  Paulsberg  really  meant 
by  that  remark,"  said  the  Attorney.  "Your  com- 
munication shall  be  Yea,  yea,  and  Nay,  nay';  it 
is  evident  it  had  a  deeper  meaning." 

"Yes,  very  evident,"  said  Milde.  "Did  you  no- 
tice, he  laughed  when  he  said  it;  something  must 
have  amused  him." 

Pause. 

A  crowd  of  promenaders  were  sauntering  con- 
tinually up  and  down  the  street,  back  and  forth, 
laughing  and  talking. 

Milde  continued: 

"I  have  often  wished  that  we  had  just  one  more 
head  like  Paulsberg's  here  in  Norway." 

"And  why,  pray?"  asked  Irgens  stiffly. 

Milde  stared  at  him,  stared  at  the  Attorney,  and 
burst  into  a  surprised  laugh. 


12  SHALLOW  SOIL 

" Listen  to  that,  Grande!  He  asks  why  we  need 
another  head  like  Paulsberg's  in  this  country!" 

"I  do,"  said  Irgens. 

But  Grande  did  not  laugh  either,  and  Milde  was 
unable  to  understand  why  his  words  failed  to  pro- 
voke mirth.  He  decided  to  pass  it  off;  he  began  to 
speak  about  other  things. 

"You  said  you  struck  a  huckster  for  brandy; 
you  have  got  brandy,  then?" 

"As  for  me,  I  place  Paulsberg  so  high  that  I  con- 
sider him  alone  able  to  do  what  is  needed,"  said 
Irgens  with  thinly  veiled  sarcasm. 

This  took  Milde  by  surprise;  he  was  not  pre- 
pared to  contradict  Irgens;  he  nodded  and  said: 

"Certainly — exactly.  I  only  thought  it  might 
accelerate  matters  to  have  a  little  assistance,  so  to 
speak — a  brother  in  arms.  But  of  course  I  agree 
with  you." 

Outside  the  Grand  Hotel  they  were  fortunate 
enough  to  run  across  Tidemand,  a  huckster  also,  a 
wholesaler,  a  big  business  man,  head  of  a  large  and 
well-known  business  house. 

"Have  you  dined?"  called  the  Artist  to  him. 

"Lots  of  times!"  countered  Tidemand. 

"Now,  no  nonsense!  Are  you  going  to  take  me 
to  dinner?" 

"May  I  be  permitted  to  shake  hands  first?" 

It  was  finally  arranged  that  they  should  take  a 
run  up  to  Irgens's  rooms  to  sample  the  brandy,  after 


PROLOGUE  13 

which  they  were  to  return  to  the  Grand  for  dinner. 
Tidemand  and  the  Attorney  walked  ahead. 

"It  is  a  good  thing  that  we  have  these  peddlers 
to  fall  back  on,"  said  Milde  to  Irgens.  "They  are 
useful  after  all." 

Irgens  replied  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders  which 
might  mean  anything. 

"And  they  never  consider  that  they  are  being  im- 
posed upon,"  continued  Milde.     "On  the  contrary, 
they  think   they  are  highly   favoured;    it  flatters 
them.     Treat  them  familiarly,  drink  their  health, 
that  is  sufficient.     Ha,  ha,  ha!    Isn't  it  true?" 
The  Attorney  had  stopped;   he  was  waiting. 
"While  we  remember  it,  we  have  got  to  make 
definite  arrangements  about  that  farewell  celebra- 
tion for  Ojen,"  he  said. 

Of  course,  they  had  almost  forgotten  about  that. 
Certainly,  Ojen  was  going  away;  something  had  to 
be  done. 

The  situation  was  this:  Ojen  had  written  two 
novels  which  had  been  translated  into  German; 
now  his  nerves  were  bothering  him;  he  could  not 
be  allowed  to  kill  himself  with  work— something 
had  to  be  done  to  procure  him  a  highly  needed 
rest.  He  had  applied  for  a  government  subsidy 
and  had  every  expectation  of  receiving  it;  Pauls- 
berg  himself  had  recommended  him,  even  if  a  little 
tepidly.  The  comrades  had  therefore  united  in  an 
effort  to  get  him  to  Torahus,  to  a  little  mountain 


14  SHALLOW  SOIL 

resort  where  the  air  was  splendid  for  neurasthenics. 
Ojen  was  to  go  in  about  a  week;  the  money  had 
been  raised;  both  Ole  Henriksen  and  Tidemand  had 
been  exceedingly  generous.  It  now  only  remained 
to  arrange  a  little  celebration  to  speed  the  parting 
comrade. 

"But  where  shall  we  find  a  battle-ground?"  asked 
Milde.  "At  your  house,  Grande?  You  have  plenty 
of  room?" 

Grande  was  not  unwilling;  it  might  be  arranged; 
he  would  speak  to  his  wife  about  it.  For  Grande 
was  married  to  Mrs.  Liberia,  and  Mrs.  Liberia  sim- 
ply had  to  be  consulted.  It  was  agreed  to  invite 
Paulsberg  and  his  wife;  as  contributors  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Tidemand  and  Ole  Henriksen  were  coming  as 
a  matter  of  course.  That  was  settled. 

"Ask  whom  you  like,  but  I  refuse  to  open  my 
doors  to  that  fellow  Norem,"  said  the  Attorney. 
"He  always  gets  drunk  and  sentimental;  he  is  an 
awful  bore.  My  wife  wouldn't  stand  for  him." 

Then  the  affair  could  not  be  held  at  Grande's 
house.  It  would  never  do  to  slight  Norem.  In 
the  perplexity  Milde  offered  his  studio. 

The  friends  considered.  It  was  not  a  bad  idea; 
a  better  place  would  be  hard  to  find.  The  studio 
was  big  and  roomy  as  a  barn,  with  two  cosey  ad- 
joining rooms.  Milde's  studio,  then — settled. 

The  affair  was  coming  off  in  a  few  days. 

The  four  gentlemen  stopped  at  Irgens's  place, 


PROLOGUE  15 

drank  his  brandy,  and  went  out  again.  The  Attor- 
ney was  going  home;  this  decision  about  the  studio 
did  not  suit  him;  he  felt  slighted.  He  might  de- 
cide to  stay  away  altogether.  At  any  rate,  he  said 
good-bye  now  and  went  his  own  way. 

"What  about  you,  Irgens — I  hope  you  will  join 
us?" 

Irgens  did  not  say  no;  he  did  not  at  all  refuse 
this  invitation.  To  tell  the  truth,  he  was  not  unduly 
eager  to  return  to  the  Grand ;  this  fat  artist  vexed 
him  considerably  with  his  familiar  manners.  How- 
ever, he  might  be  able  to  get  away  immediately 
after  the  dinner  was  over. 

In  this  desire  Tidemand  himself  unconsciously 
assisted  him;  he  left  as  soon  as  he  had  paid  the 
check.  He  was  going  somewhere. 


Ill 

TIDEMAND  made  his  way  to  H.  Henriksen's  large 
warehouse  on  the  wharf  where  he  knew  that  Ole 
could  be  found  at  this  time. 

Tidemand  had  passed  thirty  and  was  already 
getting  a  little  grey  around  the  temples.  He,  too, 
was  dark  of  hair  and  beard,  but  his  eyes  were  brown 
and  had  a  listless  expression.  When  he  was  sitting 
still  and  silent,  blinking  slowly,  these  heavy  lids  of 
his  would  rise  and  sink  almost  as  if  they  were  ex- 
hausted by  much  watching.  He  was  beginning  to 
get  a  little  bit  stout.  He  was  considered  an  ex- 
ceedingly able  business  man. 

He  was  married  and  had  two  children;  he  had 
been  married  four  years.  His  marriage  had  begun 
auspiciously  and  was  still  in  force,  although  people 
were  at  a  loss  to  understand  how  it  could  possibly 
last.  Tidemand  himself  did  not  conceal  his  aston- 
ishment over  the  fact  that  his  wife  had  managed 
to  tolerate  him  so  long.  He  had  been  a  bachelor  too 
long,  had  travelled  too  much,  lived  too  much  in 
hotels;  he  admitted  it  himself.  He  liked  to  ring 
whenever  he  wanted  anything;  he  preferred  his  meals 

16 


PROLOGUE  17 

served  at  all  hours,  whenever  he  took  a  notion,  no 
matter  if  it  happened  to  be  meal-time  or  not.  And 
Tidemand  went  into  details:  he  could  not  bear  to 
have  his  wife  serve  him  his  soup,  for  instance — was 
it  possible  for  a  woman,  even  with  the  best  inten- 
tion in  the  world,  to  divine  how  much  soup  he  might 
want? 

And,  on  the  other  side,  there  was  Mrs.  Hanka,  an 
artistic  nature,  two  and  twenty,  fond  of  life  and 
audacious  as  a  boy.  Mrs.  Hanka  was  greatly  gifted 
and  warmly  interested  in  many  things;  she  was  a 
welcome  guest  wherever  the  youthful  assembled, 
whether  in  homes  or  bachelor  dens;  nobody  could 
resist  her.  No,  she  did  not  greatly  care  for  home 
life  or  house  drudgery.  She  could  not  help  that; 
unfortunately  she  had  not  inherited  these  tastes. 
And  this  unbearable  blessing,  of  a  child  every 
year  two  years  running,  drove  her  almost  to  dis- 
traction. Good  Lord!  she  was  only  a  child  herself, 
full  of  life  and  frivolity;  her  youth  was  ahead  of 
her.  But  pursuant  to  the  arrangement  the  couple 
had  made  last  year,  Mrs.  Hanka  now  found  it  un- 
necessary to  place  any  restraint  upon  herself.  .  .  . 

Tidemand  entered  the  warehouse.  A  cool  and 
tart  smell  of  tropical  products,  of  coffee  and  oils 
and  wines,  filled  the  atmosphere.  Tall  piles  of  tea- 
boxes,  bundles  of  cinnamon  sewn  in  bast,  fruits, 
rice,  spices,  mountains  of  flour-sacks — everything 
had  its  designated  place,  from  floor  to  roof.  In  one 


18  SHALLOW  SOIL 

of  the  corners  a  stairway  led  to  the  cellar,  where 
venerable  hogsheads  of  wine  with  copper  bands 
could  be  glimpsed  hi  the  half-light  and  where 
enormous  metal  tanks  rested  in  massive  repose. 

Tidemand  nodded  to  the  busy  warehousemen, 
walked  across  the  floor,  and  peeped  through  the 
pane  into  the  little  office.  Ole  was  there.  He  was 
revising  an  account  on  a  slate. 

Ole  put  the  slate  down  immediately  and  rose  to 
meet  his  friend. 

These  two  men  had  known  each  other  since  child- 
hood, had  gone  through  the  business  college  together, 
and  shared  with  each  other  their  happiest  moments. 
Even  now,  when  they  were  competitors,  they  con- 
tinued to  visit  each  other  as  often  as  their  work 
would  permit.  They  did  not  envy  each  other;  the 
business  spirit  had  made  them  broad-minded  and 
generous;  they  toyed  with  ship-loads,  dealt  in  large 
amounts,  had  daily  before  their  eyes  enormous  suc- 
cesses or  imposing  ruin. 

Once  Tidemand  had  expressed  admiration  for  a 
little  yacht  which  Ole  Henriksen  owned.  It  was 
two  years  ago,  when  it  was  known  that  the  Tide- 
mand firm  had  suffered  heavy  losses  in  a  fish  ex- 
portation. The  yacht  lay  anchored  just  outside  the 
Henriksen  warehouse  and  attracted  much  attention 
because  of  its  beautiful  lines.  The  masthead  was 
gilded. 

Tidemand  said: 


PROLOGUE  19 

"This  is  the  most  beautiful  little  dream  I  have 
ever  seen,  upon  my  word!" 

Ole  Henriksen  answered  modestly: 

"I  do  not  suppose  I  could  get  a  thousand  for  her 
if  I  were  to  sell  her." 

"I'll  give  you  a  thousand,"  offered  Tidemand. 

Pause.    Ole  smiled. 

"Cash?  "he  asked. 

"Yes;  I  happen  to  have  it  with  me." 

And  Tidemand  took  out  his  pocketbook  and  paid 
over  the  money. 

This  occurred  in  the  warehouse.  The  clerks 
laughed,  whispered,  and  wondered. 

A  few  days  later  Ole  went  over  to  Tidemand' s 
office  and  said: 

"I  don't  suppose  you  would  take  two  thousand 
for  the  yacht?" 

"Have  you  got  the  money  with  you?" 

"Yes;  it  just  happens  that  I  have." 

"All  right,"  said  Tidemand. 

And  the  yacht  was  Ole's  once  more.  .  .  . 

Tidemand  had  called  on  Ole  now  in  order  to  pass 
away  an  hour  or  so.  The  two  friends  were  no  longer 
children;  they  treated  each  other  with  the  greatest 
courtesy  and  were  sincerely  fond  of  each  other. 

Ole  got  hold  of  Tidemand's  hat  and  cane,  which 
he  put  away,  at  the  same  tune  pointing  his  friend 
to  a  seat  on  the  little  sofa. 

"What  may  I  offer  you?"  he  asked. 


20  SHALLOW  SOIL 

"Thanks — nothing,"  said  Tidemand.  "I  have 
just  had  my  dinner  at  the  Grand." 

Ole  placed  the  flat  box  with  Havanas  before  him 
and  asked  again: 

"A  little  glass?    An  1812?" 

"Well,  thank  you,  yes.  But  never  mind;  it  is 
too  much  trouble;  you  have  to  go  down-stairs  for  it." 

"Nonsense;  no  trouble  at  all!" 

Ole  brought  the  bottle  from  the  cellar;  it  was 
impossible  to  tell  what  it  was;  the  bottle  appeared 
to  be  made  of  some  coarse  cloth,  so  deeply  covered 
with  dust  was  it.  The  wine  was  chilled  and  spark- 
ling, it  beaded  in  the  glass,  and  Ole  said: 

"Here  you  are;  drink  hearty,  Andreas!" 

They  drank.     A  pause  ensued. 

"I  have  really  come  to  congratulate  you,"  said 
Tidemand.  "I  have  never  yet  made  a  stroke  like 
that  last  one  of  yours!" 

It  was  true  that  Ole  had  turned  a  trick  lately. 
But  he  insisted  that  there  really  was  nothing  in  it 
that  entitled  him  to  any  credit;  it  was  just  a  bit 
of  luck.  And  if  there  was  any  credit  to  bestow, 
then  it  belonged  to  the  firm,  not  to  him.  The 
operations  in  London  had  succeeded  because  of  the 
cleverness  of  his  agent. 

The  affair  was  as  follows: 

An  English  freight-steamer,  the  Concordia,  had 
left  Rio  with  half  a  cargo  of  coffee;  she  touched  at 
Bathurst  for  a  deck-load  of  hides,  ran  into  the  De- 


PROLOGUE  21 

cember  gales  on  the  north  coast  of  Normandy,  and 
sprung  a  leak;  then  she  was  towed  into  Plymouth. 
The  cargo  was  water-soaked;  half  of  it  was  coffee. 

This  cargo  of  damaged  coffee  was  washed  out 
and  brought  to  London;  it  was  put  on  the  market, 
but  could  not  be  sold;  the  combination  of  sea- 
water  and  hides  had  spoiled  it.  The  owner  tried 
all  sorts  of  doctorings:  he  used  colouring  matter — 
indigo,  kurkuma,  chrome,  copper  vitriol — he  had  it 
rolled  in  hogsheads  with  leaden  bullets.  Nothing 
availed;  he  had  to  sell  it  at  auction.  Henriksen's 
agent  bid  it  in  for  a  song. 

Ole  went  to  London;  he  made  tests  with  this 
coffee,  washed  out  the  colouring  matter,  flushed  it 
thoroughly,  and  dried  it  again.  Finally  he  had  the 
entire  cargo  roasted  and  packed  in  hermetically 
sealed  zinc  boxes.  These  boxes  were  brought  to 
Norway  after  a  month  of  storing;  they  were  un- 
loaded, taken  to  the  warehouse,  opened,  and  sold. 
The  coffee  was  as  good  as  ever.  The  firm  made  a 
barrel  of  money  out  of  this  enterprise. 

Tidemand  said: 

"I  only  learned  the  particulars  a  couple  of  days 
ago;  I  must  confess  that  I  was  proud  of  you!" 

"My  part  of  the  business  was  simply  the  idea  of 
roasting  the  coffee — making  it  sweat  out  the  dam- 
age, so  to  speak.  But  otherwise,  really— 

"I  suppose  you  were  a  little  anxious  until  you 
knew  the  result?" 


22  SHALLOW  SOIL 

"Yes;   I  must  admit  I  was  a  little  anxious." 

"But  what  did  your  father  say?" 

"Oh,  he  did  not  know  anything  until  it  was  all 
over.  I  was  afraid  to  tell  him;  he  might  have  dis- 
inherited me,  cast  me  off,  you  know.  Ha,  ha!" 

Tidemand  looked  at  him. 

"Hm.  This  is  all  very  well,  Ole.  But  if  you 
want  to  give  your  father,  the  firm,  half  the  credit, 
then  you  should  not  at  the  same  time  tell  me  that 
your  father  knew  nothing  until  it  was  all  over.  I 
have  you  there!" 

A  clerk  entered  with  another  account  on  a  slate; 
he  bowed,  placed  the  slate  on  the  desk,  and  retired. 
The  telephone  rang. 

"One  moment,  Andreas;  it  is  probably  only  an 
order.  Hello!" 

Ole  took  down  the  order,  rang  for  a  clerk,  and 
gave  it  to  him. 

"I  am  detaining  you,"  said  Tidemand.  "Let  me 
take  one  of  the  slates;  there  is  one  for  each  now!" 

"Not  much!"  said  Ole;  "do  you  think  I  will  let 
you  work  when  you  come  to  see  me?" 

But  Tidemand  was  already  busy.  He  was  thor- 
oughly familiar  with  these  strange  marks  and  fig- 
ures in  the  many  columns,  and  made  out  the  ac- 
count on  a  sheet  of  paper.  They  stood  at  the  desk 
opposite  each  other  and  worked,  with  an  occasional 
bantering  remark. 

"Don't  let  us  forget  the  glasses  altogether!" 


PROLOGUE  23 

"No;  you  are  right!" 

"This  is  the  most  enjoyable  day  I  have  had  in  a 
long  tune,"  said  Ole. 

"Do  you  think  so?  I  was  just  going  to  say  the 
same.  I  have  just  left  the  Grand —  By  the  way, 
I  have  an  invitation  for  you;  we  are  both  going  to 
the  farewell  celebration  for  Ojen — quite  a  number 
will  be  there." 

"Is  that  so?    Where  is  it  going  to  be?" 

"In  Milde's  studio.    You  are  going,  I  hope?" 

"Yes;  I  will  be  there." 

They  went  back  to  their  accounts. 

"Lord!  do  you  remember  the  old  times  when  we 
sat  on  the  school  bench  together?"  said  Tidemand. 
"None  of  us  sported  a  beard  then.  It  seems  as  if 
it  were  only  a  couple  of  months  ago,  I  remember  it 
so  distinctly." 

Ole  put  down  his  pen.  The  accounts  were  fin- 
ished. 

"I  should  like  to  speak  to  you  about  something 
— you  mustn't  be  offended,  Andreas —  No;  take 
another  glass,  old  fellow,  do!  I'll  get  another  bottle; 
this  wine  is  really  not  fit  for  company." 

And  he  hurried  out;  he  looked  quite  confused. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  him?"  thought  Tide- 
mand. 

Ole  returned  with  another  bottle,  downy  as  vel- 
vet, with  trailing  cobwebs;  he  pulled  the  cork. 

"I  don't  know  how  you'll  like  this,"  he  said,  and 


24  SHALLOW  SOIL 

sniffed  the  glass.  "Try  it,  anyhow;  it  is  really 
— I  am  sure  you'll  like  it;  I  have  forgotten  the 
vintage,  but  it  is  ancient." 

Tidemand  sniffed,  sipped,  put  down  his  glass,  and 
looked  at  Ole. 

"It  isn't  half  bad,  is  it?" 

"No,"  said  Tidemand,  "it  is  not.  You  should 
not  have  done  this,  Ole." 

"Ho!  don't  be  silly— a  bottle  of  wine!" 

Pause. 

"I  thought  you  wanted  to  speak  to  me  about 
something,"  asked  Tidemand. 

"Yes,  well — I  don't  know  that  I  do,  exactly." 
Ole  went  over  and  locked  the  door.  "I  thought 
that,  as  you  cannot  possibly  know  anything  about 
it,  I  had  perhaps  better  tell  you  that  people  are 
talking  about  you,  calumniating  you,  blackening 
your  reputation,  so  to  speak.  And  you  hear  noth- 
ing, of  course." 

"Are  they  blackening  me?  What  are  they  say- 
ing?" 

"Oh,  you  can  feel  above  anything  they  say. 
Never  mind  what  they  say.  The  gossip  is  that  you 
neglect  your  wife;  that  you  frequent  restaurants  al- 
though you  have  a  home  of  your  own;  that  you  leave 
her  to  herself  while  you  enjoy  life  single-handed. 
You  are  above  such  insinuations,  of  course.  But, 
anyway,  why  do  you  eat  away  from  home  and  live 
so  much  in  restaurants?  Not  that  I  have  any  busi- 


PROLOGUE  25 

ness  to —  Say,  this  wine  is  not  half  bad,  believe 
me!  Take  another  glass;  do  me  the  favour " 

Tidemand's  eyes  had  suddenly  become  clear  and 
sharp.  He  got  up,  made  a  few  turns  across  the 
floor,  and  went  back  to  the  sofa. 

"I  am  not  at  all  surprised  that  people  are  talk- 
ing," he  said.  "I  myself  have  done  what  I  could 
to  start  the  gossip;  I  know  that  only  too  well.  But 
I  have  ceased  to  care  about  anything  any  more." 
Tidemand  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  got  up  again. 
Drifting  back  and  forth  across  the  floor,  staring  fix- 
edly straight  ahead,  he  murmured  again  that  he  had 
ceased  to  care  about  anything. 

"But  listen,  old  friend,  I  told  you  you  need  not 
pay  the  slightest  attention  to  such  contemptible  gos- 
sip," objected  Ole. 

"It  is  not  true  that  I  neglect  Hanka,  as  people 
think,"  said  Tidemand;  "the  fact  is  that  I  don't 
want  to  bother  her.  You  understand,  she  must  be 
allowed  to  do  as  she  pleases;  it  is  an  agreement, 
otherwise  she  will  leave  me."  During  the  follow- 
ing sentences  Tidemand  got  up  and  sat  down  again; 
he  was  in  a  state  of  deep  emotion.  "I  want  to  tell 
you  this,  Ole;  it  is  the  first  time  I  have  ever  men- 
tioned it  to  anybody,  and  no  one  will  ever  hear  me 
repeat  it.  But  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  do  not 
go  to  restaurants  because  I  like  to.  Where  else  can 
I  go?  Hanka  is  never  at  home;  there  is  no  dinner, 
not  a  soul  in  the  whole  house.  We  have  had  a 


26  SHALLOW  SOIL 

friendly  understanding;  we  have  ceased  to  keep 
house.  Do  you  understand  now  why  I  am  often 
seen  in  restaurants?  I  am  not  wanted;  I  keep  to  my 
office  and  go  to  the  Grand,  I  meet  friends  of  whom 
she  is  one,  we  sit  at  a  table  and  have  a  good  time. 
What  should  I  do  at  home?  Hanka  is  more  likely 
to  be  at  the  Grand;  we  sit  at  the  same  table,  per- 
haps opposite  each  other;  we  hand  each  other  a 
glass,  a  carafe.  'Andreas,'  she  says,  'please  order  a 
glass  for  Milde,  too.'  And,  of  course,  I  order  a  glass 
for  Milde.  I  like  to  do  it;  don't  believe  anything 
else!  'I  have  hardly  seen  you  to-day,'  she  some- 
times says;  'you  left  very  early  this  morning.  Oh, 
he  is  a  fine  husband ! '  she  tells  the  others  and  laughs. 
I  am  delighted  that  she  is  in  good  spirits;  I  help 
her  along  and  say:  'Who  in  the  world  could  wait 
until  you  have  finished  your  toilet;  I  have  business 
to  attend  to!'  But  the  truth  is  that  perhaps  I 
haven't  seen  her  for  a  couple  of  days.  Do  you  un- 
derstand why  I  go  to  restaurants?  I  go  in  order  to 
meet  her  after  not  having  seen  her  for  a  couple  of 
days;  I  go  to  spend  a  few  moments  with  her  and 
with  my  friends,  who  all  are  exceedingly  nice  to  me. 
But,  of  course,  everything  has  been  arranged  in  the 
friendliest  manner  possible;  don't  think  otherwise. 
I  am  sure  it  is  all  for  the  best;  I  think  the  arrange- 
ment excellent.  It  is  all  a  matter  of  habit." 

Ole  Henriksen  sat  with  open  mouth.     He  said  in 
surprise : 


PROLOGUE  27 

"Is  that  how  matters  stand?  I  had  no  idea  it 
was  that  way  with  you  two — that  it  was  that 
bad." 

"Why  not?  Do  you  find  it  strange  that  she  pre- 
fers the  clique?  All  of  them  are  famous  men,  art- 
ists and  poets,  people  who  count  for  something. 
When  you  come  to  look  at  it  they  are  not  like  you  and 
me,  Ole;  we  like  to  be  with  them  ourselves.  Bad, 
you  say?  No,  understand  me  rightly,  it  is  not  at  all 
bad.  It  is  a  good  arrangement.  I  couldn't  always 
get  home  on  time  from  the  office,  and  so  I  went  to 
a  restaurant,  naturally.  Hanka  could  not  make  her- 
self ridiculous  and  preside  at  table  in  solitary  state, 
and  so  she  went  to  a  restaurant.  We  do  not  go  to 
the  same  place  always;  sometimes  we  miss  each 
other.  But  that  is  all  right." 

There  was  a  pause.  Tidemand  leaned  his  head 
in  his  hands.  Ole  asked: 

"But  who  started  this?    Who  proposed  it?" 

"Ha,  do  you  think  for  a  moment  it  was  I?  Would 
I  be  likely  to  say  to  my  wife:  'You  will  have  to  go 
to  a  restaurant,  Hanka,  so  I  can  find  the  house 
empty  when  I  get  home  to  dinner!'  Hardly.  But 
all  the  same,  things  are  not  so  bad  as  you  might 
think—  What  would  you  say  if  I  were  to  tell 
you  that  she  does  not  even  regard  herself  as  being 
married?  Of  course,  you  cannot  realise  that.  I 
reasoned  with  her,  said  this  and  that,  a  married 
woman,  house  and  home,  and  she  answered:  'Mar- 


28  SHALLOW  SOIL 

ried,  did  you  say?  That  is  rather  an  exaggeration, 
don't  you  think?'  How  does  that  strike  you?  For 
this  reason  I  am  careful  not  to  say  anything  to  her; 
she  isn't  married;  that  is  her  affair.  She  lives  occa- 
sionally where  I  live,  we  visit  the  children,  go  in 
and  out,  and  part  again.  It  is  all  right  as  long  as 
she  is  satisfied." 

"But  this  is  ridiculous!"  exclaimed  Ole  suddenly. 
11 1  can't  imagine —  Does  she  think  you  are  an 
old  glove  she  can  throw  away  when  she  is  through 
with  it?  Why  haven't  you  put  your  foot  down?" 

"Of  course,  I  have  said  something  like  that. 
Then  she  wanted  a  divorce.  Twice.  What  could 
I  do  then?  I  am  not  made  so  that  I  can  tear  every- 
thing up  all  at  once;  I  need  a  little  time;  it  will 
come  later.  She  is  right  about  the  divorce;  it  is 
I  who  am  against  it;  she  is  justified  in  blaming  me 
for  that.  Why  haven't  I  played  the  part  of  a  man, 
showed  her  her  place,  made  her  behave?  But,  my 
dear  man,  she  would  have  left  me!  She  said  so 
plainly;  there  was  no  misunderstanding  possible; 
it  has  happened  twice.  What  could  I  do?" 

The  two  men  sat  awhile  in  silence.  Ole  asked 
quietly : 

"But  has  your  wife,  then —  I  mean,  do  you 
think  she  is  in  love  with  somebody  else?" 

"Of  course,"  answered  Tidemand.  "Such  things 
are  bound  to  happen;  not  intentionally,  of  course, 
but " 


PROLOGUE  29 

"And  you  do  not  know  who  it  is?" 

"  Don't  you  think  I  know?  That  is,  I  don't  know 
really;  how  could  I  know  for  sure?  I  am  almost 
certain  she  is  not  really  in  love  with  anybody;  it 
is  hard  to  say.  Do  you  think  that  I  am  jealous, 
perhaps?  Don't  for  a  moment  imagine  anything, 
Ole;  I  am  glad  to  say  that  I  have  a  little  sense 
left;  not  much,  perhaps,  but  a  little.  In  short, 
she  is  not  in  love  with  anybody  else,  as  people  sus- 
pect; it  is  simply  a  whim,  a  fancy.  In  a  little  while 
she  will  probably  come  and  propose  that  we  shall 
begin  housekeeping  again  and  live  together;  it  is 
not  at  all  impossible,  I  tell  you,  for  I  know  her 
thoroughly.  She  is,  at  any  rate,  very  fond  of  the 
children;  I  have  never  seen  anybody  so  fond  of 
children  as  she  has  been  lately.  You  ought  to  come 
and  see  us  some  time —  Do  you  remember  when 
we  were  married?" 

"I  certainly  do." 

"She  was  a  somewhat  passable  bride,  what?  Not 
at  all  one  to  be  ashamed  of,  don't  you  think?  Ha, 
ha,  ha,  not  at  all,  Ole!  But  you  ought  to  see  her 
now,  I  mean  at  home,  now  that  she  is  so  very  fond 
of  the  children  again.  I  cannot  describe  her.  She 
wears  a  black  velvet  gown—  Be  sure  and  come 
over  some  time.  Sometimes  she  is  in  red,  a  dark 
red  velvet—  This  reminds  me — perhaps  she  is  at 
home  now;  I  am  going  to  drop  in;  I  might  be  able 
to  do  something  for  her." 


30  SHALLOW  SOIL 

The  two  friends  emptied  their  glasses  and  stood 
facing  each  other. 

"I  hope  everything  will  come  out  all  right,"  said 
Ole. 

"Oh,  yes,  it  will,"  said  Tidemand.  "I  am  grate- 
ful to  you,  Ole;  you  have  been  a  good  friend  to 
me.  I  haven't  had  such  a  pleasant  hour  as  long  as 
I  can  remember." 

" Listen!"  Tidemand  turned  in  the  doorway  and 
said:  "What  we  have  discussed  here  remains  be- 
tween us,  eh?  Not  a  hint  on  Thursday;  everything 
is  as  it  should  be  as  far  as  we  are  concerned,  what? 
We  are  no  mopes,  I  hope!" 

And  Tidemand  departed. 


IV 

EVENING  falls  over  the  town.  Business  rests, 
stores  are  closed,  and  lights  are  lowered.  But  old, 
grey-haired  business  men  shut  themselves  hi  their 
offices,  light  their  lamps,  take  out  papers,  open 
heavy  ledgers,  note  some  figures,  a  sum,  and  think. 
They  hear  the  noise  from  the  docks  where  steamers 
load  and  unload  all  night  long. 

It  gets  to  be  ten,  eleven;  the  cafe's  are  crowded 
and  the  traffic  is  great.  All  sorts  of  people  roam  the 
streets  in  their  best  attire;  they  follow  each  other, 
whistle  after  girls,  and  dart  in  and  out  from  gateways 
and  basement  stairs.  Cabbies  stand  at  attention 
on  the  squares,  on  the  lookout  for  the  least  sign 
from  the  passers-by;  they  gossip  between  them- 
selves about  their  horses  and  smoke  idly  their  vile 
pipes. 

A  woman  hurries  past — a  child  of  night  whom 
everybody  knows;  after  her  a  sailor  and  a  gentle- 
man in  silk  hat,  both  eagerly  stepping  out  to  reach 
her  first.  Then  two  youths  with  cigars  at  an  im- 
pertinent angle,  hands  in  pockets,  speaking  loudly. 
Behind  them  another  woman;  finally,  a  couple  of 
men  hurrying  to  catch  up  with  her. 

31 


32  SHALLOW  SOIL 

But  now  one  tower-clock  after  another  booms 
forth  the  twelve  solemn  strokes  all  over  the  city; 
the  cafe's  empty  themselves,  and  from  the  music- 
halls  crowds  of  people  swarm  into  the  streets.  The 
winches  are  still  groaning  along  the  docks;  cabs 
roll  through  the  streets.  But  inside  the  hidden  of- 
fices one  old  business  chief  after  another  has  fin- 
ished his  accounts  and  his  planning;  the  grey-headed 
gentlemen  close  their  ledgers,  take  their  hats  from 
the  rack,  put  out  the  lights,  and  go  home. 

And  the  last  guests  depart  from  the  Grand,  a 
crowd  that  has  stuck  to  the  end,  young  fellows, 
joyful  souls.  They  saunter  down  the  street  with 
coats  wide  open,  canes  held  jauntily  under  the  arms, 
and  hats  slightly  askew.  They  talk  loudly,  hum 
the  latest  popular  air,  call  jestingly  to  a  lonely,  for- 
gotten girl  in  a  boa  and  white  veil. 

The  company  wanders  toward  the  university. 
The  conversation  is  about  literature  and  politics, 
and,  although  nobody  contradicts  them,  they  are 
loud  and  eager:  Was  Norway  a  sovereign  state  or 
not?  Was  Norway  perhaps  not  entitled  to  the  rights 
and  privileges  of  a  sovereign  state?  Just  wait  a 
moment,  the  Speaker  had  promised  to  attend  to 
things;  besides,  there  were  the  elections.  ...  All 
were  agreed,  the  elections  would  decide. 

Three  of  the  gentlemen  part  from  the  group  when 
the  university  is  reached;  the  remaining  two  take 
another  turn  down  the  street,  stop  outside  the 


PROLOGUE  33 

Grand,  and  exchange  opinions.  It  is  Milde  and 
Ojen.  Milde  is  highly  indignant. 

"I  repeat:  If  Parliament  yields  this  time,  it  is 
me  for  Australia.  In  that  case  it  will  be  unbear- 
able here." 

Ojen  is  young  and  nervous;  his  little,  round,  girl- 
ish face  is  pale  and  void  of  expression;  he  squints 
as  if  he  were  near-sighted,  although  his  eyes  are 
good,  and  his  voice  is  soft  and  babyish. 

"I  am  unable  to  understand  that  all  this  can  in- 
terest you  so  greatly.  It  is  all  one  to  me."  And 
Ojen  shrugs  his  shoulders;  he  is  tired  of  politics. 
His  shoulders  slope  effeminately. 

"Oh  well,  I  won't  detain  you,"  says  Milde.  "By 
the  way,  have  you  written  anything  lately?" 

"A  couple  of  prose  poems,"  replies  Ojen,  bright- 
ening at  once.  "I  am  waiting  to  get  off  toTora- 
hus  so  I  can  start  in  in  earnest.  You  are  right — 
this  town  is  unbearable!" 

"Well — I  had  the  whole  country  in  mind,  though — 
Say,  don't  forget  next  Thursday  evening  in  my 
studio.  By  the  way,  old  fellow,  have  you  got  a 
crown  or  so  you  could  spare?" 

Ojen  unbuttons  his  coat  and  finds  the  crown. 

"Thanks,  old  man.  Thursday  evening,  then. 
Come  early  so  that  you  can  help  me  a  little  with 
the  arrangements —  Good  Lord,  silk  lining!  And 
I  who  asked  you  for  a  miserable  crown!  I  hope  I 
did  not  offend  you." 


34  SHALLOW  SOIL 

Ojen  smiles  and  pooh-poohs  the  joke. 

"As  if  one  sees  anything  nowadays  but  silk- 
lined  clothes!" 

"By  Jove!  What  do  they  soak  you  for  a  coat 
like  that?"  And  Milde  feels  the  goods  appraisingly. 

"Oh,  I  don't  remember;  I  never  can  remember 
figures;  that  is  out  of  my  line.  I  put  all  my  tailor 
bills  away;  I  come  across  them  whenever  I  move." 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!  that  is  certainly  a  rational  system, 
most  practical.  For  I  do  not  suppose  you  ever  pay 
them!" 

"In  God's  own  time,  as  the  Bible  says—  Of 
course,  if  I  ever  get  rich,  then —  But  I  want  you 
to  go  now.  I  must  be  alone." 

"All  right,  good  night.  But  listen,  seriously 
speaking:  if  you  have  another  crown  to  spare " 

And  once  more  Ojen  unbuttons  his  coat. 

"A  thousand  thanks!  Oh,  you  poets,  you  poets! 
Where,  for  instance,  may  you  be  going  now?" 

"I  think  I'll  walk  here  awhile,  and  look  at  houses. 
I  can't  sleep,  so  I  count  the  windows;  it  is  not  such 
a  bad  occupation  at  times.  I  take  an  exquisite 
pleasure  in  satiating  my  vision  with  squares  and 
rectangles,  with  pure  lines.  Of  course,  you  cannot 
understand  such  things." 

"I  should  say  I  did  understand — no  one  better! 
But  I  prefer  human  beings.  Don't  you  at  times — 
flesh  and  blood,  humans,  eh — they  have  their  at- 
traction, don't  you  think?" 


PROLOGUE  35 

"I  am  ashamed  to  say  it,  but  people  weary  me. 
No;  take  for  instance  the  sweep  of  a  solitary,  de- 
serted street — have  you  never  noticed  the  charm 
of  such  a  view?" 

"Haven't  I?  I  am  not  blind,  not  entirely.  A 
desolate  street,  of  course,  has  its  own  beauty,  its 
own  charm,  in  its  kind  the  highest  charm  imagi- 
nable. But  everything  in  its  place—  Well,  I 
must  not  detain  you!  Au  revoir — Thursday!" 

Milde  saluted  with  his  cane,  turned,  and  strolled 
up  the  street.  Ojen  continued  alone.  He  proved 
a  few  moments  afterward  that  he  had  not  lost  all 
his  interest  in  human  beings;  he  had  calumniated 
himself.  To  the  very  first  hussy  who  hailed  him 
he  gave,  absent-mindedly,  every  penny  he  had  left, 
and  continued  his  way  hi  silence.  He  had  not 
spoken  a  word;  his  slender,  nervous  figure  disap- 
peared in  the  darkness  before  the  girl  could  even 
manage  to  thank  him — 

And  at  last  everything  is  still;  the  winches  fall 
to  rest  along  the  wharves;  the  town  has  turned  in. 
From  afar,  nobody  knows  from  where,  comes  the 
sound  of  a  single  footfall;  the  gas  flames  flicker  in 
the  street  lamps;  two  policemen  talk  to  each  other, 
occasionally  stamping  their  feet  to  keep  warm. 

Thus  the  night  passes.  Human  footsteps  here 
and  there;  now  and  then  a  policeman  who  stamps 
his  feet  to  keep  warm. 


A  BARNLIKE  room  with  blue  walls  and  sliding 
windows,  a  sort  of  drying-loft  with  a  stove  in 
the  middle,  and  with  stovepipes  hanging  in  wires 
along  the  ceiling.  The  walls  are  decorated  with  a 
number  of  sketches,  painted  fans,  and  palettes;  sev- 
eral framed  pictures  lean  against  the  wainscoting. 
Smell  of  paints  and  tobacco  smoke;  brushes,  tubes, 
overcoats  which  the  guests  had  thrown  aside;  an 
old  rubber  shoe  filled  with  nails  and  junk;  on  the 
easel  in  the  corner  a  large,  half-finished  portrait  of 
Paulsberg. 

This  was  Milde's  studio. 

When  Ole  Henriksen  entered  about  nine  o'clock 
all  the  guests  were  assembled,  also  Tidemand  and  his 
wife.  There  were  altogether  ten  or  twelve  people. 
The  three  lamps  were  covered  with  opaque  shades, 
and  the  heavy  tobacco  smoke  did  not  make  the 
room  any  lighter.  This  obscurity  was  evidently 
Mrs.  Hanka's  idea.  A  couple  of  very  young  gen- 
tlemen, beardless  students  with  bachelor  degrees, 
were  of  the  party;  they  were  poets  who  had  put 
aside  their  studies  last  year.  Their  heads  were  so 

36 


PROLOGUE  37 

closely  cropped  as  to  be  almost  entirely  naked.  One 
of  them  carried  a  small  compass  on  his  watch-chain. 
They  were  Ojen's  comrades,  his  admirers  and  pu- 
pils; both  wrote  verses. 

Besides  these,  one  noticed  a  man  from  the  Ga- 
zette, Journalist  Gregersen,  the  literary  member  of 
the  staff.  He  was  a  man  who  did  his  friends  many 
a  favour  and  published  in  his  paper  many  an  item 
concerning  them.  Paulsberg  showed  him  the  great- 
est deference,  and  conversed  with  him  about  his 
series,  "New  Literature,"  which  he  found  admira- 
ble; and  the  Journalist  was  happy  and  proud  be- 
cause of  this  approbation.  He  had  a  peculiar  habit 
of  twisting  words  so  that  they  sounded  odd  and 
absurd,  and  nobody  could  turn  this  trick  as  smartly 
as  he. 

"It  is  rather  difficult  to  write  such  a  series  within 
reasonable  limits,"  he  says.  "There  are  so  many 
authors  that  have  to  be  included — a  veritable 
choas!" 

He  makes  Paulsberg  smile  over  this  "choas,"  and 
they  talk  on  in  the  best  of  harmony. 

Attorney  Grande  and  his  wife  were  absent. 

"So  the  Attorney  is  not  coming,"  says  Mrs. 
Hanka  Tidemand,  without  referring  to  his  wife. 
Mrs.  Liberia  never  came,  anyway. 

"He  sulks,"  said  Milde,  and  drank  with  Norem, 
the  Actor.  "He  did  not  want  to  come  because 
Norem  was  invited." 


38  SHALLOW  SOIL 

Nobody  felt  the  least  constraint;  they  chatted 
about  everything,  drank,  and  made  plenty  of  noise. 
It  was  a  splendid  place,  Milde's  studio;  as  soon  as 
one  got  inside  the  door  one  felt  free  to  do  or  say 
anything  one's  inclination  prompted. 

Mrs.  Hanka  is  seated  on  the  sofa;  Ojen  sits  be- 
side her.  On  the  other  side  of  the  table  sits  Ir- 
gens;  the  light  falls  across  his  narrow  chest.  Mrs. 
Hanka  hardly  glances  at  him. 

She  is  in  her  red  velvet  gown;  her  eyes  have  a 
greenish  sheen.  Her  upper  lip  is  slightly  raised. 
One  glimpses  her  teeth  and  marvels  at  their  white- 
ness. The  face  is  fresh  and  the  complexion  clear. 
Her  beautiful  forehead  is  not  hidden  beneath  her 
hair;  she  carries  it  sweetly  and  candidly,  like  a 
nun.  A  couple  of  rings  flash  on  her  fingers.  She 
breathes  deeply  and  says  to  Irgens,  across  the  table: 

"How  hot  it  is  here,  Irgens!" 

Irgens  gets  up  and  goes  over  to  open  a  window, 
but  a  voice  is  raised  in  protest;  it  is  Mrs.  Pauls- 
berg's.  "For  Heaven's  sake,  no  open  windows. 
Come  away  from  the  sofa;  it  is  cooler  further 
back!" 

And  Mrs.  Hanka  gets  up.  Her  movements  are 
undulating.  When  she  stands  up  she  is  like  a  young 
girl,  with  bold  shoulders.  She  does  not  glance  into 
the  large,  cracked  mirror  as  she  passes;  she  exhales 
no  odours  of  perfumes;  she  takes,  accidentally,  her 
husband's  arm  and  walks  up  and  down  with  him 


PROLOGUE  39 

while  the  conversation  and  the  refreshments  keep 
the  other  guests  at  the  table. 

Tidemand  is  talking,  with  somewhat  forced  liveli- 
ness, about  a  cargo  of  grain,  a  certain  Fiirst  in  Riga, 
a  raise  in  customs  duties  somewhere.  Suddenly  he 
says,  bending  toward  her: 

"  Yes;  I  am  very  happy  to-day.  But,  pardon  me, 
you  are  hardly  interested  in  these  things —  Did  you 
see  Ida  before  you  left?  Wasn't  she  sweet  in  her 
white  dress?  We'll  get  her  a  carriage  when  spring 
comes!" 

"Yes;  in  the  country!  I  am  beginning  to  long 
for  it  already!"  Mrs.  Hanka  herself  is  animated. 
"You  must  get  the  garden  and  the  grove  fixed  up. 
It  will  be  fine." 

And  Tidemand,  who  already  has  arranged  to  have 
the  country-house  put  in  order,  although  it  is  not 
April  yet,  is  delighted  because  of  his  wife's  sudden 
interest.  His  sombre  eyes  brighten  and  he  presses 
her  arm. 

"I  want  you  to  know,  Hanka,  I  am  very  hapuy 
to-day,"  he  exclaims.  "Everything  will  be  all  right 
soon,  I  am  sure." 

"Are  you—  What  will  be  all  right,  by  the 
way?" 

"Oh,  nothing,"  he  says  quickly.  He  turns  the 
subject,  looks  down,  and  continues:  "Business  is 
booming;  I  have  given  Fiirst  orders  to  buy!" 

Fool  that  he  was!    There  he  had  once  more  made 


40  SHALLOW  SOIL 

a  mistake  and  bothered  his  wife  with  his  shop  talk. 
But  Mrs.  Hanka  was  good  enough  to  overlook  it; 
nobody  could  have  answered  more  patiently  and 
sweetly  than  did  she: 

"I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it!" 

These  gentle  words  embolden  him;  he  is  grateful 
and  wants  to  show  it  as  best  he  can;  he  smiles  with 
dewy  eyes  and  says  in  a  low  voice: 

"I  should  like  to  give  you  a  little  present  if  you 
care — a  sort  of  souvenir  of  this  occasion.  If  there 
is  anything  you  would  like— 

Mrs.  Hanka  glances  at  him. 

"No,  my  dear.  What  are  you  thinking  of? 
Though,  perhaps — you  might  let  me  have  a  couple 
of  hundred  crowns.  Thanks,  very  much!"  Sud- 
denly she  spies  the  old  rubber  shoe  with  nails  and 
junk,  and  she  cries,  full  of  curiosity:  "Whatever  is 
this?"  She  lets  go  her  husband's  arm  and  brings 
the  rubber  over  to  the  table.  "Whatever  have  you 
got  here,  Milde?"  She  rummages  in  the  rubbish 
with  her  white  fingers,  calls  Irgens  over,  finds  one 
strange  thing  after  another,  and  asks  questions  con- 
cerning them.  "Will  somebody  please  tell  me  what 
this  is  good  for?" 

She  has  fished  out  an  umbrella-handle  which  she 
throws  aside  at  once;  then  a  lock  of  hair  enclosed 
in  paper.  "Look — a  lock  of  somebody's  hair! 
Come  and  see!" 

Milde  joined  her. 


PROLOGUE  41 

"Leave  that  alone!"  he  said  and  took  his  cigar 
out  of  his  mouth.  "However  did  that  get  in 
there?  Did  you  ever — hair  from  my  last  love,  so 
to  speak!" 

This  was  sufficient  to  make  everybody  laugh. 
The  Journalist  shouted: 

"But  have  you  seen  Milde's  collection  of  corsets? 
Out  with  the  corsets,  Milde!" 

And  Milde  did  not  refuse;  he  went  into  one  of 
the  side  rooms  and  brought  forth  his  package. 
There  were  both  white  and  brown  ones;  the  white 
ones  were  a  little  grey,  and  Mrs.  Paulsberg  asked 
in  surprise: 

"But — have  they  been  used?" 

"Of  course;  why  do  you  think  Milde  collects 
them?  Where  would  be  their  senmitental  value 
otherwise?"  And  the  Journalist  laughed  heartily, 
happy  to  be  able  to  twist  even  this  word  around. 

But  the  corpulent  Milde  wrapped  his  corsets  to- 
gether and  said: 

"This  is  a  little  specialty  of  mine,  a  talent — 
But  what  the  dickens  are  you  all  gaping  at?  It  is 
my  own  corsets;  I  have  used  them  myself — don't 
you  understand?  I  used  them  when  I  began  to 
grow  stout;  I  laced  and  thought  it  would  help. 
But  it  helped  like  fun!" 

Paulsberg  shook  his  head  and  said  to  Norem: 

"Your  health,  Norem!  What  nonsense  is  this  I 
hear,  that  Grande  objects  to  your  company?" 


42  SHALLOW  SOIL 

"God  only  knows,"  says  Norem,  already  half 
drunk.  "Can  you  imagine  why?  I  have  never 
offended  him  in  my  life!" 

"No;  he  is  beginning  to  get  a  little  chesty  lately." 

Norem  shouted  happily: 

"You  hear  that?  Paulsberg  himself  says  that 
Grande  is  getting  chesty  lately." 

They  all  agreed.  Paulsberg  very  seldom  said 
that  much;  usually  he  sat,  distant  and  unfathom- 
able, and  listened  without  speaking;  he  was  re- 
spected by  all.  Only  Irgens  thought  he  could  defy 
him;  he  was  always  ready  with  his  objections. 

"I  cannot  see  that  this  is  something  Paulsberg 
can  decide,"  he  said. 

They  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  Was  that  so? 
So  Paulsberg  could  not  decide  that?  He!  he!  so 
that  was  beyond  him?  But  who,  then,  could  de- 
cide it? 

"Irgens,"  answered  Paulsberg  caustically. 

Irgens  looked  at  him;  they  gazed  fixedly  at  each 
other.  Mrs.  Hanka  stepped  between  them,  sat 
down  on  a  chair,  and  began  to  speak  to  Ojen. 

"Listen  a  moment!"  she  called  after  a  while. 
"Ojen  wants  to  read  his  latest — a  prose  poem." 

And  they  settled  down  to  listen. 

Ojen  brought  forth  his  prose  poem  from  an  in- 
side pocket;  his  hands  trembled. 

"I  must  ask  your  indulgence,"  said  he. 

But  at  this  the  two  young  students,  the  close- 


PROLOGUE  43 

cropped  poets,  laughed  loudly,  and  the  one  with  the 
compass  in  his  fob  said  admiringly: 

"And  you  ask  for  our  indulgence?  What  about 
us,  then?" 

"Quiet!" 

"The  title  of  this  is  'Sentenced  to  Death,'"  said 
Ojen,  and  began: 

For  a  long  time  I  have  wondered :  What  if  my  secret  guilt 
were  known?  .  .  . 

Sh.  .  .  . 

Yes,  sh.  .  .  . 

For  then  I  should  be  sentenced  to  death. 

And  I  would  sit  in  my  prison  and  know  that  I  should  be 
calm  and  indifferent  when  the  supreme  moment  should  ar- 
rive. 

I  would  ascend  the  steps  of  the  scaffold,  I  would  smile  and 
humbly  beg  permission  to  say  a  word. 

And  then  I  would  speak.  I  would  implore  everybody  to 
learn  something  good  from  my  death.  A  speech  from  my 
inmost  heart,  and  my  last  farewell  should  be  like  a  breath 
of  flame.  .  .  . 

Now  my  secret  guilt  is  known. 

Yes! 

And  I  am  sentenced  to  death.  And  I  have  languished  in 
prison  so  long  that  my  spirit  is  broken. 

I  ascend  the  steps  to  the  scaffold;  but  to-day  the  sun  is 
shining  and  my  eyes  fill  with  tears. 

For  I  have  languished  so  long  in  prison  that  I  am  weak. 
And  then  the  sun  is  shining  so — I  haven't  seen  it  for  nine 
months,  and  I  haven't  heard  the  birds  sing  for  nine  months 
— until  to-day. 

I  smile  in  order  to  hide  my  tears  and  I  ask  humbly  if  my 
guards  will  permit  me  to  speak  a  word. 

But  they  will  not  permit  me. 


44  SHALLOW  SOIL 

Still  I  want  to  speak — not  to  show  my  courage,  but  really 
I  want  to  say  a  few  words  from  my  heart  so  as  not  to  die 
mutely — innocent  words  that  will  harm  nobody,  a  couple  of 
hurried  sentences  before  they  clap  their  hands  across  my  lips : 
Friends,  see  how  God's  sun  is  shining.  .  .  . 

And  I  open  my  lips,  but  I  cannot  speak. 

Am  I  afraid?  Does  my  courage  fail?  Alas,  no,  I  am 
not  afraid.  But  I  am  weak,  that  I  am,  and  I  cannot  speak 
because  I  look  upon  God's  sun  and  the  trees  for  the  last 
time.  .  .  . 

What  now?     A  horseman  with  a  white  flag? 

Peace,  my  heart,  do  not  tremble  so! 

No,  it  is  a  woman  with  a  white  veil,  a  handsome  woman 
of  my  own  age.  Her  neck  is  bare  like  my  own. 

And  I  do  not  understand  it,  but  I  weep  because  of  this 
white  veil,  too,  because  I  am  weak  and  the  white  veil  flut- 
ters beautifully  against  the  green  background  of  the  forest. 
But  in  a  little  while  I  shall  see  it  no  more.  .  .  . 

Perhaps,  though,  after  my  head  has  fallen  I  may  still  be 
able  to  see  the  blessed  sky  for  a  few  moments  with  my  eyes. 
It  is  not  impossible,  if  I  only  open  my  eyes  widely  when  the 
axe  falls.  Then  the  sky  will  be  the  last  I  see. 

But  don't  they  tie  a  bandage  across  rny  eyes?  Or  won't 
they  blindfold  me  because  I  am  so  weak  and  tearful?  But 
then  everything  will  be  dark,  and  I  shall  lie  blindly,  unable 
even  to  count  the  threads  in  the  cloth  before  my  eyes. 

How  stupidly  mistaken  I  was  when  I  hoped  to  be  able  to 
turn  my  eyes  upward  and  behold  the  blessed  vault  of  heaven. 
They  will  turn  me  over,  on  my  stomach,  with  my  neck  in  a 
clamp.  And  I  shall  be  able  to  see  nothing  because  of  my 
bandaged  eyes. 

Probably  there  will  be  a  small  box  suspended  below  me; 
and  I  cannot  even  see  the  little  box  which  I  know  will  catch 
my  severed  head. 

Only  night — a  seething  darkness  around  me.  I  blink  my 
eyes  and  believe  myself  still  alive — I  have  life  in  my  fingers, 
even — I  cling  stubbornly  to  life.  If  they  would  only  take 


PROLOGUE  45 

off  the  bandage  so  I  could  see  something — I  might  enjoy 
looking  at  the  dust  grains  in  the  bottom  of  the  box  and  see 
how  tiny  they  were.  .  .  . 

Silence  and  Darkness.  Mute  exhalations  from  the 
crowds.  .  .  . 

Merciful  God!  Grant  me  one  supplication — take  off  the 
bandage!  Merciful  God!  I  am  Thy  creature — take  off  the 
bandage ! 

Everybody  was  silent  when  he  was  through.  Ojen 
drank;  Milde  was  busy  with  a  spot  on  his  vest,  and 
did  not  understand  a  word  of  what  he  had  heard; 
he  lifted  his  glass  to  the  Journalist  and  whispered: 

"Your  health!" 

Mrs.  Hanka  spoke  first;  she  smiled  to  Ojen  and 
said,  out  of  the  goodness  of  her  heart: 

"Oh,  you  Ojen,  you  Ojen!  How  everything  you 
write  seems  evanescent,  ethereal!  'Mute  exhala- 
tions from  the  crowds' —  I  can  hear  it;  I  can  feel 
it!  It  is  thrilling!" 

Everybody  thought  so,  too,  and  Ojen  was  happy. 
Happiness  was  very  becoming  to  his  girlish  face. 

"Oh,  it  is  only  a  little  thing,  a  mood,"  he  said. 
He  would  have  liked  to  hear  Paulsberg's  opinion, 
but  Paulsberg  remained  sphinxlike  and  silent. 

"How  do  you  think  of  such  things?  These  prose 
poems  are  really  exquisite!" 

"It  is  my  temperament,  I  suppose.  I  have  no 
taste  for  fiction.  In  me  everything  turns  to  poetry, 
with  or  without  rhymes ;  but  verses  always.  I  have 
entirely  ceased  to  use  rhymes  lately." 


46  SHALLOW  SOIL 

"But  tell  me — in  what  manner  does  your  nervous- 
ness really  affect  you?"  asked  Mrs.  Hanka  in  her 
gentle  voice.  "It  is  so  very  sad;  you  must  really 
try  to  get  well  again." 

"Yes,  I'll  try.  It  is  hard  to  explain;  at  times  I 
will  suddenly  become  excited  without  the  slightest 
reason.  I  shudder;  I  simply  tear  myself  to  pieces. 
Then  I  cannot  bear  to  walk  on  carpets;  if  I  should 
lose  anything  I  should  never  find  it  again.  I  should 
not  hear  it  drop,  and  consequently  I  should  never 
think  of  looking  for  it.  Can  you  imagine  anything 
more  distracting  than  to  have  something  you  have 
lost  lying  there  without  your  knowing  it?  It  tor- 
tures me,  therefore,  to  walk  on  carpets;  I  am  in 
constant  fear  and  I  keep  my  hands  over  my  pockets ; 
I  look  at  my  vest  buttons  to  be  sure  of  them.  I 
turn  around  again  and  again  to  make  sure  that  I 
haven't  by  chance  lost  something  or  other — And 
there  are  other  annoyances:  I  have  the  strangest 
ideas,  the  most  peculiar  hallucinations.  I  place  a 
glass  on  the  very  edge  of  the  table  and  imagine  I 
have  made  a  bet  with  some  one — a  bet  involving 
enormous  amounts.  Then  I  blow  on  the  glass;  if  it 
falls  I  lose — lose  an  amount  large  enough  to  ruin  me 
for  life;  if  it  remains  I  have  won  and  can  build  my- 
self a  castle  on  the  Mediterranean.  It  is  the  same 
whenever  I  go  up  a  strange  stairway:  should  there 
be  sixteen  steps  I  win,  but  if  there  are  eighteen  I 
lose.  Into  this,  though,  there  enter  other  intricate 


PROLOGUE  47 

possibilities:  Suppose  there  should  be  twenty  steps, 
have  I  lost  or  won?  I  do  not  yield;  I  insist  on  my 
rights  in  the  matter;  I  go  to  law  and  lose  my  case — 
Well,  you  mustn't  laugh;  it  is  really  annoying. 
Of  course  these  are  only  minor  matters.  I  can  give 
other  examples:  Let  somebody  sit  in  a  room  next 
to  yours  and  sing  a  single  verse  of  a  certain  song, 
sing  it  endlessly,  without  ceasing,  sing  it  through 
and  begin  again;  tell  me — would  this  not  drive  you 
crazy?  Where  I  live  there  is  such  a  person,  a  tailor; 
he  sits  and  sings  and  sews,  and  his  singing  is  un- 
ceasing. You  cannot  stand  it;  you  get  up  in  a  fury 
and  go  out.  Then  you  run  into  another  torture. 
You  meet  a  man,  an  acquaintance,  with  whom  you 
enter  into  a  conversation.  But  during  this  conver- 
sation you  suddenly  happen  to  think  of  something 
pleasant,  something  good  that  is  in  store  for  you, 
perhaps — something  you  wish  to  return  to  later  and 
thoroughly  enjoy.  But  while  you  stand  there  talk- 
ing you  forget  that  pleasant  thought,  forget  it  cleanly 
and  cannot  recall  it  at  any  cost!  Then  comes  the 
pain,  the  suffering;  you  are  racked  on  the  wheel 
because  you  have  lost  this  exquisite,  secret  enjoy- 
ment to  which  you  could  have  treated  yourself  at 
no  cost  or  trouble." 

"It  mitst  be  strange!  But  you  are  going  to  the 
country,  to  the  pine  woods  now;  you  will  get  well 
again,"  says  Mrs.  Hanka,  and  feels  like  a  mother. 

Milde  chimes  in: 


48  SHALLOW  SOIL 

"Of  course  you  will.  And  think  of  us  when  you 
are  in  your  kingdom." 

Ole  Henriksen  had  remained  quietly  in  his  chair; 
he  said  little  and  smoked  his  cigar.  He  knew  Tora- 
hus;  he  gave  Ojen  a  hint  about  visiting  the  house 
of  the  county  judge,  which  was  a  mile  away.  He 
had  only  to  row  across  a  lake;  pine  woods  all  around 
— the  house  looked  like  a  little  white  marble  palace 
in  the  green  surroundings. 

"How  do  you  know  all  this?"  asked  Irgens,  quite 
surprised  to  hear  Ole  speak. 

"I  went  through  there  on  a  walking  trip,"  an- 
swered Ole,  embarrassed.  "We  were  a  couple  of 
boys  from  the  college.  We  stopped  at  the  house 
and  had  a  glass  of  milk." 

"Your  health,  Mr.  College  Man!"  called  the 
Journalist  sarcastically. 

"Be  sure  and  row  over,"  said  Ole.  "County 
Judge  Lynum's  family  is  charming.  There  is  even 
a  young  girl  in  the  house  if  you  care  to  fall  in  love," 
he  added  smilingly. 

"He,  he!  No;  whatever  else  one  can  accuse  Ojen 
of,  the  ladies  he  leaves  severely  alone!"  said  Norem, 
good-natured  and  tipsy. 

"Your  health,  Mr.  College  Man!"  shouted  Gre- 
gersen  again. 

Ole  Henriksen  looked  at  him. 

"Do  you  mean  me?"  he  asked. 

"Of  course,  I  mean  you,  certainly  I  do!    Haven't 


PROLOGUE  49 

you  attended  college?  Well,  aren't  you  a  college 
man,  then?" 

The  Journalist,  too,  was  a  little  tipsy. 

"It  was  only  a  business  college,"  said  Ole  quietly. 

"Of  course,  you  are  a  peddler,  yes.  But  there  is 
no  reason  why  you  should  be  ashamed  of  that.  Is 
there,  Tidemand?  I  say  there  is  no  reason  what- 
ever! Does  anybody  feel  called  upon  to  object?" 

Tidemand  did  not  answer.  The  Journalist  kept 
obstinately  to  the  question;  he  frowned  and  thought 
of  nothing  else,  afraid  to  forget  what  he  had  asked 
about.  He  began  to  lose  his  temper;  he  demanded 
a  reply  in  a  loud  voice. 

Mrs.  Hanka  said  suddenly: 

"Silence,  now.  Ojen  is  going  to  read  another 
poem." 

Both  Paulsberg  and  Irgens  made  secretly  a  wry 
face,  but  they  said  nothing;  on  the  contrary,  Pauls- 
berg  nodded  encouragingly.  When  the  noise  had 
subsided  a  little  Ojen  got  up,  stepped  back,  and 
said: 

"I  know  this  by  heart.  It  is  called  'The  Power 
of  Love.'" 

We  rode  in  a  railway  carriage  through  a  strange  landscape 
— strange  to  me,  strange  to  her.  We  were  also  strangers  to 
each  other;  we  had  never  met  before.  Why  is  she  sitting  so 
quietly?  I  wondered.  And  I  bent  toward  her  and  said, 
while  my  heart  hammered: 

"Are  you  grieving  for  somebody,  madam?  Have  you  left 
a  friend  where  you  come  from — a  very  dear  friend?  " 


50  SHALLOW  SOIL 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  "a  very  dear  friend." 

"And  now  you  sit  here  unable  to  forget  this  friend?"  I 
asked. 

And  she  answered  and  shook  her  head  sadly: 

"No,  no — I  can  never  forget  him." 

She  was  silent.     She  had  not  looked  at  me  while  she  spoke. 

"May  I  lift  your  braid?"  I  asked  her.  "What  a  lovely 
braid — how  very  beautiful  it  is!" 

"My  friend  has  kissed  it,"  she  said,  and  pushed  back  my 
hand. 

"Forgive  me,"  I  said  then,  and  my  heart  pounded  more 
and  more.  "May  I  not  look  at  your  ring — it  shines  so 
golden  and  is  also  so  very  beautiful.  I  should  like  to  look 
at  it  and  admire  it  for  your  sake." 

But  to  this  she  also  said  no  and  added: 

"My  friend  has  given  it  to  me." 

Then  she  moved  still  further  away  from  me. 

"  Please  forgive  me,"  I  said.  .  .  . 

Time  passes,  the  train  rolls  on,  the  journey  is  so  long,  so 
long  and  wearisome,  there  is  nothing  we  can  do  except  listen 
to  the  rumbling  of  the  wheels.  An  engine  flares  past,  it 
sounds  like  iron  striking  iron,  and  I  start,  but  she  does  not; 
she  is  probably  entirely  absorbed  in  thoughts  about  her 
friend.  And  the  train  rolls  on. 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  she  glances  at  me,  and  her  eyes 
are  strangely  blue. 

"It  grows  darker?"  she  says. 

"We  are  approaching  a  tunnel,"  I  answer. 

And  we  rode  through  the  tunnel. 

Some  time  passes.  She  glances  at  me,  a  trifle  impatiently, 
and  says: 

"It  seems  to  me  it  grows  dark  again?" 

"We  are  drawing  near  the  second  tunnel,  there  are  three 
altogether,"  I  answer.  "Here  is  a  map — do  you  want  to 
see?" 

"  It  frightens  me,"  she  says  and  moves  closer  to  me. 

I  say  nothing.     She  asks  me  smilingly: 


PROLOGUE  51 

"Did  you  say  three  tunnels?  Is  there  one  more  besides 
this  one?" 

"Yes — one  more." 

We  enter  the  tunnel;  I  feel  that  she  is  very  close  to  me, 
her  hand  touches  mine.  Then  it  grows  light  again  and  we 
are  once  more  in  the  open. 

We  ride  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  She  is  now  so  close  to 
me  that  I  feel  the  warmth  from  her. 

"You  are  welcome  to  lift  my  braid  if  you  wish  to,"  she 
says,  "  and  if  you  care  to  look  at  my  ring — why,  here  it  is ! " 

I  held  her  braid  and  did  not  take  her  ring  because  her 
friend  had  given  it  to  her.  She  smiled  and  did  not  offer  it 
to  me  again. 

"Your  eyes  are  so  bright,  and  how  white  your  teeth!" 
she  said  and  grew  confused.  "I  am  afraid  of  that  last  tunnel 
— please  hold  my  hand  when  we  get  to  it.  No — don't  hold 
my  hand;  I  didn't  mean  that,  I  was  jesting;  but  talk  to 
me." 

I  promised  to  do  what  she  asked  me  to. 

A  few  moments  later  she  laughed  and  said: 

"  I  was  not  afraid  of  the  other  tunnels;  only  this  one  fright- 
ens me.  " 

She  glanced  at  my  face  to  see  how  I  might  answer,  and  I 
said: 

"This  is  the  longest,  too;  it  is  exceedingly  long." 

Her  confusion  was  now  at  its  highest. 

"But  we  are  not  near  any  tunnel,"  she  cried.  "You  are 
deceiving  me;  there  is  no  tunnel!" 

"Yes,  there  is,  the  last  one — look!" 

And  I  pointed  to  my  map.  But  she  would  see  nothing 
and  listen  to  nothing. 

"No,  no, — there  is  no  tunnel,  I  tell  you  there  is  none!  But 
speak  to  me  if  there  be  one!"  she  added. 

She  leaned  back  against  the  cushions,  and  smiled  through 
half-closed  lids. 

The  engine  whistled;  I  looked  out;  we  were  approaching 
the  black  opening.  I  remembered  that  I  had  promised  to 

LIBRARY 


52  SHALLOW  SOIL 

speak  to  her;  I  bent  towards  her,  and  in  the  darkness  I  felt 
her  arms  around  my  neck. 

"Speak  to  me,  please  do!  I  am  so  frightened!"  she  whis- 
pered with  beating  heart.  "  Why  don't  you  speak  to  me?" 

I  felt  plainly  how  her  heart  was  beating,  and  I  placed  my 
lips  close  to  her  ears  and  whispered: 

"But  now  you  are  forgetting  your  friend!" 

She  heard  me,  she  trembled  and  let  me  go  quickly;  she 
pushed  me  away  with  both  hands,  and  threw  herself  down  in 
the  seat.  I  sat  there  alone.  I  heard  her  sobs  through  the 
darkness. 

"This  was  The  Power  of  Love,"  Ojen  said. 

Everybody  listened  attentively;  Milde  sat  with 
open  mouth. 

"Well — what  more?"  he  asked,  evidently  think- 
ing there  must  be  a  climax  yet  to  come.  "Is  that 
all?  But  Heaven  preserve  us,  man,  what  is  it  all 
about?  No;  the  so-called  poetry  you  young  writers 
are  dishing  out  nowadays — I  call  it  arrant  rot!" 

They  all  laughed  loudly.  The  effect  was  spoiled; 
the  poet  with  the  compass  in  his  fob  arose,  pointed 
straight  at  Milde,  and  said  furiously: 

"This  gentleman  evidently  lacks  all  understand- 
ing of  modern  poetry." 

"Modern  poetry!  This  sniffing  at  the  moon  and 
the  sun,  these  filigree  phrases  and  unintelligible  fan- 
cies—  There  must,  at  least,  be  a  point,  a  climax, 
to  everything!" 

Ojen  was  pale  and  furious. 

"You  have  then  not  the  slightest  understanding 
of  my  new  intentions,"  said  the  poor  fellow,  trem- 


PROLOGUE  53 

bling  with  excitement.  "But,  then,  you  are  a  brute, 
Milde;  one  could  not  expect  intelligent  apprecia- 
tion from  you." 

Only  now  did  the  fat  painter  realise  how  much 
he  had  offended;  he  had  hardly  expected  this  when 
he  spoke. 

"A  brute?"  he  answered  good-naturedly.  "It 
seems  we  are  beginning  to  express  ourselves  very 
plainly.  I  did  not  mean  to  insult  you,  anyway. 
Don't  you  think  I  enjoyed  the  poem?  I  did,  I  tell 
you;  enjoyed  it  immensely.  I  only  thought  it  a 
little  disembodied,  so  to  speak,  somewhat  ethereal. 
Understand  me  correctly:  it  is  very  beautiful,  ex- 
ceedingly artistic,  one  of  the  best  things  you  have 
produced  yet.  Can't  you  take  a  joke  any  more?" 

But  it  was  of  no  avail  that  Milde  tried  to  smooth 
things  over;  the  seriousness  of  the  moment  had 
gone,  they  laughed  and  shouted  more  than  ever, 
and  cut  loose  in  earnest.  Norem  opened  one  of  the 
windows  and  sang  to  the  street  below. 

To  mend  matters  a  little  and  make  Ojen  feel  bet- 
ter, Mrs.  Hanka  placed  her  hand  on  his  shoulder  and 
promised  to  come  and  see  him  off  when  he  started 
on  his  trip.  Not  she  alone — they  would  all  come. 
When  was  he  going? 

She  turned  to  Ole  Henriksen:  "You'll  come,  won't 
you,  and  see  Ojen  off  when  he  goes?" 

Ole  Henriksen  then  gave  an  unexpected  reply 
which  surprised  even  Mrs.  Hanka:  He  would  not 


54  SHALLOW  SOIL 

only  go  with  Ojen  to  the  station,  he  would  go  with 
him  all  the  way  to  Torahus.  Yes,  he  had  suddenly 
made  up  his  mind,  he  would  make  this  little  trip ;  he 
had,  in  fact,  a  sort  of  reason  for  going—  And  he 
was  so  much  in  earnest  that  he  buttonholed  Ojen  at 
once  and  arranged  the  day  for  the  departure. 

The  Journalist  drank  with  Mrs.  Paulsberg,  who 
held  her  glass  in  a  peculiar  masculine  fashion.  They 
moved  over  to  the  sofa  on  account  of  the  draught, 
and  told  each  other  amusing  anecdotes.  Mrs.  Pauls- 
berg  knew  a  story  concerning  Grande  and  one  of 
Pastor  B.'s  daughters.  She  had  reached  the  climax 
when  she  paused. 

"Well — go  on!"  the  Journalist  exclaimed  eagerly. 

"Wait  a  moment!"  answered  Mrs.  Paulsberg 
smilingly,  "you  must  at  least  give  me  time  to  blush 
a  little!" 

And  she  recounted  merrily  the  climax. 

Norem  had  retired  to  a  corner  and  was  fast  asleep. 

"Does  anybody  know  the  time?"  asked  Mrs. 
Paulsberg. 

"Don't  ask  me,"  said  Gregersen,  and  fumbled  at 
his  vest  pocket.  "It  is  many  a  day  since  I  carried 
a  watch!" 

It  turned  out  that  it  was  one  o'clock. 

About  half-past  one  Mrs.  Hanka  and  Irgens  had 
disappeared.  Irgens  had  asked  Milde  for  roasted 
coffee,  and  since  then  had  not  been  seen.  Nobody 
seemed  to  think  it  strange  that  the  two  had  sneaked 


PROLOGUE  55 

away,  and  no  questions  were  asked;  Tidemand  was 
talking  to  Ole  Henriksen  about  his  trip  to  Torahus. 

"But  have  you  time  to  run  off  like  this?"  he 
asked. 

"I'll  take  time,"  answered  Ole.  "By  the  way,  I 
want  to  tell  you  something  by  and  by." 

Around  Paulsberg's  table  the  political  situation 
was  being  discussed.  Milde  once  more  threatened 
to  banish  himself  to  Australia.  But,  thank  Heaven, 
it  now  looked  as  if  Parliament  would  do  something 
before  it  was  dissolved,  would  refuse  to  yield. 

"It  is  a  matter  of  indifference  to  me  what  it  does," 
said  Gregersen  of  the  Gazette.  "As  things  have 
been  going,  Norway  has  assumed  the  character  of  a 
beaten  country.  We  are  decidedly  poverty-stricken 
in  every  respect;  we  lack  power,  both  in  politics 
and  in  our  civic  life.  How  sad  to  contemplate  the 
general  decline!  What  miserable  remnants  are  left 
of  the  intellectual  life  that  once  flamed  up  so  brightly, 
that  called  loudly  to  Heaven  in  the  seventies!  The 
aged  go  the  way  of  the  flesh;  who  is  there  to  take 
their  places?  I  am  sick  of  this  decadence;  I  can- 
not thrive  in  low  intellectual  altitudes!" 

Everybody  looked  at  the  Journalist;  what  was 
the  matter  with  the  ever-merry  chap?  He  was  not 
so  very  drunk  now;  he  spoke  passably  clearly,  and 
did  not  twist  any  words.  What  did  he  mean?  But 
when  the  witty  dog  reached  the  declaration  that  he 
could  only  thrive  in  a  high  spiritual  altitude,  then 


56  SHALLOW  SOIL 

the  guests  broke  into  peals  of  merriment  and  under- 
stood that  it  was  a  capital  hoax.  The  merry  blade 
—hadn't  he  almost  fooled  them  all!  "Poor  rem- 
nants of  the  intellectual  life  of  the  seventies!" 
Didn't  we  have  Paulsberg  and  Irgens,  and  Ojen  and 
Milde,  and  the  two  close-cropped  poets,  and  an  en- 
tire army  of  first-class,  sprouting  talents  besides! 

The  Journalist  himself  laughed  and  wiped  his  fore- 
head and  laughed  again.  It  was  generally  believed 
that  this  fellow  was  possessed  of  a  literary  talent 
which  had  not  entirely  stagnated  in  his  newspaper. 
A  book  might  be  expected  from  him  some  day,  a 
remarkable  work. 

Paulsberg  forced  a  smile.  In  reality  he  was  of- 
fended because  nobody  had  alluded  to  his  novels  or 
to  his  work  on  the  Atonement  during  the  entire  eve- 
ning. When  therefore  the  Journalist  asked  him  his 
opinion  concerning  the  intellectual  life  of  the  na- 
tion, his  reply  was  brief: 

"It  seems  to  me  I  have  had  occasion  to  express 
an  opinion  somewhere  in  my  works." 

Of  course,  of  course;  when  they  came  to  think  of 
it  they  certainly  remembered  it.  It  was  true;  a 
speech  somewhere  or  other.  Mrs.  Paulsberg  quoted 
from  book  and  page. 

But  Paulsberg  made  up  his  mind  to  leave  now. 

"I'll  come  and  sit  for  you  to-morrow,"  he  said 
to  Milde,  with  a  glance  at  the  easel.  He  got  up, 
emptied  his  glass,  and  found  his  overcoat.  His  wife 


PROLOGUE  57 

pressed  everybody's  hand  vigorously.  They  met 
Mrs.  Hanka  and  Irgens  in  the  door. 

From  now  on  the  merriment  knew  no  bounds; 
they  drank  like  sponges;  even  the  two  young  poets 
kept  up  as  well  as  they  could,  and  talked  with  blood- 
shot eyes  about  Baudelaire.  Milde  demanded  to 
know  why  Irgens  had  asked  him  for  coffee.  Why 
did  he  need  coffee?  He  hoped  he  had  not  been 
making  preparations  to  kiss  Mrs.  Hanka?  Damn 
him,  he  would  hate  to  trust  him.  .  .  .  Tidemand 
hears  this  and  he  laughs  with  the  others,  louder 
than  the  others,  and  he  says:  "You  are  right,  he 
is  not  to  be  trusted,  the  sly  dog!"  Tidemand  was 
sober  as  always. 

They  did  not  restrain  themselves;  the  conversa- 
tion was  free  and  they  swore  liberally.  When  all 
was  said  and  done,  it  was  prudery  that  was  Nor- 
way's curse  and  Norway's  bane;  people  preferred  to 
let  their  young  girls  go  to  the  dogs  in  ignorance  rather 
than  enlighten  them  while  there  was  time.  Prudery 
was  the  flourishing  vice  of  the  moment.  So  help  me, 
there  ought  to  be  public  men  appointed  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  shouting  obscenity  on  the  streets  just  to 
make  young  girls  acquainted  with  certain  things 
while  there  was  still  time.  What,  do  you  object, 
Tidemand? 

No,  Tidemand  did  not  object,  and  Ole  Henrik- 
sen  did  not  object.  The  idea  was  original,  to  say 
the  least.  Ha,  ha! 


58  SHALLOW  SOIL 

Milde  got  Tidemand  over  in  a  corner. 

"It  is  like  this,"  he  said,  "I  wonder  if  you  have 
got  a  couple  of  crowns?" 

Yes;  Tidemand  was  not  entirely  stripped.  How 
much?  A  ten-spot? 

"Thanks,  old  man,  I'll  give  it  back  to  you  shortly," 
said  Milde  in  all  seriousness.  "Very  soon,  now. 
You  are  a  brick!  It  is  not  more  than  a  couple  of 
days  since  I  said  that  you  hucksters  were  great 
fellows.  That  is  exactly  what  I  said.  Here  is  my 
hand!" 

Mrs.  Hanka  got  up  at  last;  she  wanted  to  leave. 
It  was  beginning  to  grow  light  outside. 

Her  husband  kept  close  by  her. 

"Yes,  Hanka,  that  is  right — let  us  be  going,"  he 
said.  He  was  on  the  point  of  offering  her  his  arm. 

"Thank  you,  my  friend,  but  I  have  an  escort," 
she  said  with  an  indifferent  glance. 

It  took  him  a  moment  to  recover  himself. 

"Oh,  I  see,"  he  said  with  a  forced  smile.  "It  is 
all  right;  I  only  thought " 

He  walked  over  to  the  window  and  remained 
standing  there. 

Mrs.  Hanka  said  good  night  to  everybody.  When 
she  came  to  Irgens  she  whispered  eagerly,  breath- 
lessly: "To-morrow,  then,  at  three."  She  kept 
Ojen's  hand  in  hers  and  asked  him  when  he  was 
going.  Had  he  remembered  to  make  reservations 
at  Torahus?  No;  she  might  have  known  it;  these 


PROLOGUE  59 

poets  were  always  forgetting  the  most  essential. 
He  would  have  to  telegraph  at  once.     Good-bye! 
And  get  well  soon.  .  .  .     She  was  maternal  to  the 
last. 
The  Journalist  accompanied  her. 


VI 

"You  said  there  was  something  you  wanted  to 
tell  me,"  said  Tidemand. 

"Yes;  so  there  is—  You  were  surprised  that  I 
wanted  to  go  along  to  Torahus.  Of  course,  I  said 
that  I  had  business  there.  That  is  not  so;  I  just 
said  that.  I  know  nobody  there  except  Lynums; 
that  is  all  there  is  to  it.  I  did  really  visit  their  house 
once.  You  never  heard  anything  so  ridiculous;  we 
came  there,  two  thirsty  tourists,  and  they  gave  us 
milk;  since  then  I  have  met  the  family  when  they 
came  to  town  last  fall  and  this  winter.  It  is  quite 
a  family — seven  altogether,  including  the  tutor.  The 
oldest  daughter's  name  is  Aagot.  I'll  tell  you  more 
about  them  later.  Aagot  was  eighteen  the  7th  of 
December;  ha,  ha!  she  is  in  her  nineteenth  year;  I 
happen  to  remember  that  she  told  me.  In  short, 
we  are  not  exactly  engaged;  I  don't  mean  to  say 
that;  we  have  only  written  to  each  other  once  in  a 
while.  But  there  is  no  telling  what  may  happen — 
What  do  you  say  to  that?" 

Tidemand  was  more  than  surprised;   he  stopped. 

"But  I  had  not  the  slightest  idea;  you  haven't 
said  a  word  to  me  about  it!" 

60 


PROLOGUE  61 

"No;  I  was  hardly  in  a  position  to  say  anything 
yet.  There  is  nothing  definite;  she  is  very  young, 
you  know.  Suppose  she  had  changed  her  mind? 
She  may  tell  me  she  has  other  intentions  when  I  get 
there.  In  that  case  nothing  can  be  said  against 
her;  the  execution  will  take  place  without  witnesses; 
her  reputation  will  have  suffered  nothing —  I  want 
you  to  see  her,  Andreas;  I  have  a  picture  of  her. 
I  won't  say  that  she  gave  it  to  me;  I  almost  took 
it  forcibly;  but 

They  stopped  a  moment  and  looked  at  the  photo- 
graph. 

" Charming!"  said  Tidemand. 

"  Isn't  she?  I  am  glad  you  think  so.  I  am  sure 
you  will  like  her." 

They  walked  on. 

"I  want  to  congratulate  you!"  said  Tidemand 
and  stopped  again. 

" Thanks!"  Ole  added  a  moment  afterward: 
"Yes,  I  thank  you.  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that  it 
is  really  decided,  practically,  that  is.  I  am  going 
up  to  bring  her  to  town  with  me." 

They  had  almost  reached  the  Railway  Square 
when  Tidemand  suddenly  stared  straight  ahead  and 
whispered : 

"But  isn't  that  my  wife  there  ahead  of  us?" 

"Yes;  so  it  is,"  whispered  Ole.  "I  have  noticed 
this  lady  ahead  of  us  a  long  while;  it  is  only  now 
I  see  who  it  is." 


62  SHALLOW  SOIL 

Mrs.  Hanka  walked  home  alone;  the  Journalist 
had  not  accompanied  her  at  all. 

" Thank  God!"  exclaimed  Tidemand  involunta- 
rily. "She  told  me  she  had  an  escort,  and  now  she 
goes  home  all  alone.  Isn't  she  a  darling?  She  is 
going  straight  home.  But  tell  me — why  did  she 
say  she  had  an  escort?" 

"Oh,  you  mustn't  take  such  things  too  literally," 
answered  Ole.  "She  probably  did  not  want  any- 
body to  go  with  her,  neither  you  nor  I  nor  any- 
body else.  Couldn't  she  feel  that  way  inclined, 
perhaps?  Young  ladies  have  their  moods,  just 
like  you  or  me." 

"Of  course,  that  is  perfectly  true."  Tidemand 
accepted  this  explanation.  He  was  happy  because 
his  wife  was  alone  and  was  making  straight  for 
home.  He  said,  nervously  glad:  "Do  you  know,  to 
judge  by  a  few  words  I  had  with  her  this  evening 
it  seems  as  if  things  were  coming  around  more  and 
more.  She  even  asked  about  the  business,  about  the 
Russian  customs  duty;  honest,  she  wanted  to  know 
everything  about  Fiirst.  You  should  have  seen  how 
delighted  she  was  because  business  is  looking  up 
again.  We  spoke  about  our  summer  vacation,  our 
country  house.  Yes,  it  is  getting  a  little  better 
every  day." 

"There  you  are — didn't  I  tell  you?  It  certainly 
would  be  a  pity  otherwise." 

Pause. 


PROLOGUE  63 

"There  is  something  I  am  at  a  loss  to  ex- 
plain, though,"  continued  Tidemand,  worried  again. 
"Here  lately  she  has  been  talking  about  what  a 
woman  like  herself  should  do  with  her  life.  She 
must  have  a  career,  something  to  do  and  accom- 
plish. I  must  confess  it  astonished  me  a  little,  a 
woman  with  two  children  and  a  large  household — 
She  has  also  begun  to  use  her  former  name  again, 
Hanka  Lange  Tidemand,  just  as  if  her  name  still 
were  Lange." 

Mrs.  Hanka  had  stopped  outside  her  own  en- 
trance; she  was  evidently  waiting  for  her  husband. 
She  called  to  him  jestingly  that  he  had  better 
hurry — she  was  almost  freezing  to  death.  And  she 
lifted  her  finger  banteringly  and  asked: 

"What  plots  and  conspiracies  are  you  two  whole- 
salers now  hatching?  Where  is  the  price  of  wheat 
now,  and  what  are  you  going  to  put  it  up  to?  God 
have  mercy  on  you  on  the  day  of  judgment!" 

Tidemand  answered  in  kind:  What  in  the  world 
had  she  done  with  the  Journalist?  So  she  had  not 
wanted  company,  not  even  her  own  husband's;  she 
had  been  in  a  sentimental  mood?  But  how  could 
she  be  so  cruel  as  to  let  this  poor  fellow  Gregersen 
ramble  home  all  alone,  drunk  as  he  was?  It  was 
simply  heartless 

In  about  a  week  Ole  Henriksen  had  returned 
from  Torahus.  Ojen  had  remained,  but  Ole  had 


64  SHALLOW  SOIL 

brought  back  a  young  lady,  his  fiancee, .  Aagot 
Lynum.  With  them  had  come  a  third  person,  a 
somewhat  peculiar  fellow. 


GERMINATION 


GERMINATION 


f~\LE  returned  from  Torahus  the  5th  of  April. 
He  introduced  his  fiancee  at  once  to  the  clique, 
presented  her  to  his  friends,  and  spent  all  day  in  her 
company.  He  had  not  as  yet  introduced  her  to  Ir- 
gens  and  Attorney  Grande  because  he  had  failed  to 
run  across  them. 

She  was  young  and  fair,  with  high  bosom  and  a 
straight  carriage.  Her  blond  hair  and  her  frequent 
laughter  gave  an  impression  of  extreme  youthful- 
ness.  She  had  a  dimple  in  her  left  cheek  and  none 
in  her  right,  and  this  solitary  dimple  made  her 
peculiar,  characteristic.  Wasn't  it  strange  to  have 
one  side  of  the  face  different  from  the  other?  She 
was  of  average  height. 

She  had  been  so  carried  away  with  everything 
she  had  seen  in  the  city  that  she  wandered  around 
in  a  state  of  joyful  excitement  all  day.  The  clique 
had  capitulated  to  her  charm  and  shown  her  much 
amiability;  Mrs.  Hanka  had  simply  embraced  her 
and  kissed  her  the  moment  she  saw  her. 

67 


68  SHALLOW  SOIL 

She  followed  Ole  around  in  the  establishment, 
peeped  into  all  the  wonderful  drawers  and  boxes 
in  the  store,  tasted  old,  strong  wines  in  the  cellars, 
and  opened  in  fun  the  heavy  ledgers  in  the  office. 
But  she  was  especially  fond  of  the  warehouse,  the 
little  stall  of  an  office  down  there  that  was  filled 
with  tart  and  peculiar  odours  from  all  kinds  of  trop- 
ical products.  From  the  window  she  could  see  the 
docks,  the  harbour,  the  tugs  that  brought  cargoes 
in  and  out  and  puffed  stertorously,  shaking  the  very 
air  with  their  efforts.  Just  outside  floated  the  little 
yacht  with  the  golden  masthead;  it  was  hers;  it 
had  been  conveyed  to  her  and  belonged  to  her  le- 
gally. Ole  had  even  been  in  Veritas*  and  had  its 
name  changed  to  Aagot.  She  had  all  the  docu- 
ments. 

And  slate  after  slate  is  brought  into  the  office;  the 
accounts  grow  a  little  every  day,  they  fill  many 
columns,  swell  into  larger  and  larger  amounts;  the 
spring  season  has  commenced,  the  active  period  just 
before  summer;  all  the  pulses  of  trade  the  world 
over  leap  and  quiver  with  passionate  energy. 

While  Ole  counts  and  makes  notes,  Aagot  busies 
herself  with  something  or  other  on  the  other  side 
of  the  desk.  She  was  often  unable  to  understand 
how  Ole  managed  to  keep  all  these  accounts  straight 
without  getting  the  amounts  mixed;  she  had  tried 
it  herself,  but  in  vain.  The  only  thing  she  can  be 

*  The  Maritime  Insurance  and  Registry  Office  in  Christiania. 


GERMINATION  69 

trusted  with  is  the  entering  of  endless  orders  in  the 
books,  and  this  she  does  carefully  and  conscien- 
tiously. 

Ole  looks  at  her  and  says  suddenly: 

"  Lord,  what  tiny  hands  you  have,  Aagot!  He,  he! 
they  are  next  to  nothing.  I  can't  understand  how 
you  can  get  along  with  them." 

That  is  enough.  Aagot  throws  down  her  pen 
and  runs  over  to  him.  And  they  are  happy  and 
silly  until  the  next  slate  arrives. 

"Little  Mistress!"  he  says  smilingly,  and  looks 
down  into  her  eyes,  "Little  Mistress!" 

Time  passes.  At  last  the  work  is  done,  the  ac- 
counts finished,  and  Ole  says,  while  he  slams  the 
ledger  shut: 

"Well,  I  have  got  to  go  and  send  some  wires. 
Are  you  coming  along?" 

"Yes,  dear,  if  you'll  let  me!"  she  answers.  And 
she  trips  along,  greatly  pleased. 

On  the  way  Ole  remembers  that  he  has  not  as 
yet  presented  his  sweetheart  to  Irgens.  "You  ought 
to  meet  this  fellow  Irgens,"  he  says;  "he  is  a  great 
man,  one  of  the  deep  talents;  everybody  says  so." 
Suppose  they  went  as  far  as  the  Grand;  he  might 
be  there. 

They  entered  the  Grand,  passed  by  the  tables 
where  people  sat  drinking  and  smoking,  and  found 
Irgens  far  back  hi  the  room.  Milde  and  Norem 
were  with  him. 


70  SHALLOW  SOIL 

"So  here  you  are!"  called  Ole. 

Irgens  gave  him  his  left  hand  and  did  not  get 
up.  He  glanced  through  half-closed  lids  at  Aagot. 

"This,  Aagot,  is  the  poet  Irgens."  Ole  pre- 
sented him,  somewhat  proud  of  his  intimate  ac- 
quaintance with  the  great  man.  "My  fiancee,  Miss 
Lynum." 

Irgens  got  up  and  bowed  deeply.  Once  more  he 
looked  at  Aagot,  looked  persistently,  even,  and  she 
looked  back  at  him;  she  was  evidently  surprised  to 
find  the  poet  different  from  what  she  had  thought. 
It  was  over  two  years  since  she  had  read  his  book, 
the  lyric  drama  which  had  brought  him  so  much 
fame.  She  had  thought  the  master  to  be  an  elderly 
man. 

"May  I  congratulate?"  said  Irgens  finally,  and 
gave  Ole  his  hand. 

They  all  sat  down;  each  got  a  seidel  and  began 
a  conversation.  The  spirits  around  the  little  table 
rose;  even  Irgens  grew  communicative  and  joined 
in.  He  addressed  Aagot  across  the  table,  asked  if 
she  had  been  in  the  city  before,  in  the  theatre,  in 
Tivoli,  read  this  book  or  that,  visited  the  Exhibition 
of  paintings?  "But,  Miss  Lynum,  you  must  really 
see  the  Exhibition!  I  should  be  delighted  to  show 
it  to  you  if  you  cannot  find  a  better  guide— 
They  conversed  for  about  ten  minutes  across  the 
table,  and  Aagot  replied  rapidly  to  every  question, 
sometimes  laughing,  now  and  then  forgetting  her- 


GERMINATION  71 

self  and  asking  questions  with  her  head  tilted  side- 
ways; her  eyes  were  wide  open  and  sparkling;  she 
was  not  the  least  bit  embarrassed. 

Ole  called  the  waiter.  He  had  to  leave;  he  was 
going  to  the  telegraph  office.  Aagot,  too,  got  up. 

"But  there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  go,  Miss 
Lynum,"  said  Milde.  "You  can  come  back  for 
Miss  Lynum  when  you  have  telegraphed,  Ole." 

"  Yes,  I  am  going,"  said  Aagot. 

"But  if  you  want  to  stay  I'll  call  for  you  in  a 
few  moments,"  said  Ole  and  took  his  hat. 

She  looked  at  him  and  answered  almost  in  a 
whisper: 

"Won't  you  let  me  come  with  you?" 

"Certainly,  if  you  want  to." 

Ole  paid  his  check. 

"Say,"  said  Milde,  "be  good  enough  to  settle 
this  check,  too.  None  of  us  is  very  flush  to-day." 
And  he  smiled  and  glanced  at  Aagot. 

Ole  settled,  said  good-bye,  and  walked  out  with 
Aagot  on  his  arm. 

The  three  gentlemen  looked  after  her. 

"The  devil!"  murmured  Irgens  in  sincere  admi- 
ration. "Did  you  notice  her." 

"Did  we!  How  the  dickens  did  that  grocery- 
man  get  hold  of  such  a  beauty?" 

Milde  agreed  with  the  Actor;  it  was  simply  in- 
comprehensible. What  in  the  world  could  she  be 
thinking  of! 


72  SHALLOW  SOIL 

"Don't  talk  so  loud;  they  have  stopped  over  by 
the  entrance,"  said  Irgens. 

They  had  run  across  the  Attorney.  The  same 
introduction  followed;  a  little  talk  could  not  be 
avoided.  They  did  not  remove  their  hats  and  gloves 
and  were  ready  to  go  at  a  moment's  notice.  At 
last  they  left. 

That  very  moment  a  man  got  up  from  one  of  the 
farthest  tables  and  approached  the  entrance.  .  .  .  He 
was  a  man  in  the  forties,  with  greyish  beard  and 
dark  eyes;  his  clothes  were  a  little  shabby;  he  was 
partly  bald. 

He  walked  straight  over  to  the  Attorney,  bowed, 
and  said: 

"Do  you  mind  if  I  sit  down  here?  I  noticed  that 
Mr.  Henriksen  spoke  to  you;  you  must  know  him, 
then.  As  for  me,  I  am  acquainted  with  Miss  Lynum, 
who  was  introduced  to  you.  I  am  the  tutor  in  her 
home;  my  name  is  Coldevin." 

Something  about  the  stranger  appealed  to  the 
little  Attorney's  curiosity;  he  made  room  for  him 
at  once  and  even  offered  him  a  cigar.  The  waiter 
brought  his  glass  over. 

"I  visit  the  city  only  very  seldom,"  said  Colde- 
vin. "I  live  in  the  country.  During  the  last  ten 
years  I  have  hardly  been  anywhere  with  the  excep- 
tion of  a  trip  to  Copenhagen  during  the  Exhibition. 
So  I  run  around  all  day  and  look  things  over.  There 
are  many  changes;  the  city  grows  bigger  and  bigger. 


GERMINATION  73 

It  is  a  pleasure  to  walk  around  down  by  the  docks 
and  watch  the  traffic." 

His  voice  was  well  modulated;  he  spoke  simply 
and  quietly,  although  his  eyes  at  times  glowed  with 
a  smouldering  fire. 

The  Attorney  listened  and  answered  cordially. 
Yes,  one  had  to  admit  that  the  city  was  making 
progress;  an  electric  car  line  was  being  built;  sev- 
eral more  streets  were  going  to  be  asphalted;  the 
last  census  showed  an  enormous  increase.  .  .  .  Wasn't 
it  strange  to  live  in  the  country  always?  No? 
But  in  the  winter — in  the  darkness  and  the  snow? 

No;  it  was  glorious!  Dazzling  snow  everywhere; 
silent,  wild  woods,  ptarmigan,  hares,  and  foxes. 
White,  glittering  white  snow!  But  summer,  of 
course,  was  more  beautiful.  It  would  be  high 
summer  when  he  returned;  his  intention  was  to 
stay  a  couple  of  months,  perhaps  even  longer.  That 
ought  to  suffice  to  see  and  hear  most  of  what  went 
on.  What  was  happening,  anyway?  What  was  the 
situation? 

"Well,"  answered  the  Attorney,  "the  situation 
is  serious.  But  we  place  our  faith  in  Parliament. 
Several  of  the  leaders  have  given  their  ultimatum; 
if  all  signs  do  not  fail,  they  surely  will  make  short 
shrift  this  time." 

"Yes,  if  the  signs  do  not  fail— 

"You  appear  to  have  your  doubts?"  asked  the 
Attorney  smilingly. 


74  SHALLOW  SOIL 

"No;  only  there  seems  to  be  too  much  confidence 
placed  in  the  leaders  and  in  their  promises.  I  come 
from  the  country;  we  have  our  suspicions;  it  is  hard 
to  get  rid  of  them.  The  leaders  might  fail  us  now 
as  heretofore.  Indeed,  they  might." 

Coldevin  drank  from  his  glass. 

"I  cannot  say  that  I  remember  their  failing  us 
heretofore,"  said  the  Attorney.  "Do  you  refer  to 
any  particular  occasion  when  the  leaders  have  be- 
trayed us?" 

"Well,  yes.  Promises  have  been  broken,  prom- 
ises have  been  interpreted,  promises  have  been  openly 
and  dispassionately  denied.  We  should  not  forget 
these  things.  One  should  not  rely  too  much  on 
the  leaders;  the  country's  youth  should  be  our 
hope.  No;  a  leader  is  apt  to  prove  a  broken  reed. 
It  is  an  old  law  that  whenever  a  leader  reaches  a 
certain  age  he  pauses — yes,  he  even  turns  right 
about  face  and  pushes  the  other  way.  Then  it  is 
up  to  the  young  to  march  on,  to  drive  him  ahead 
or  trample  him  down." 

The  door  opened  and  Lars  Paulsberg  entered. 
He  nodded  to  the  Attorney,  who  returned  his  greet- 
ing. The  Attorney  pointed  to  a  chair  at  his  table, 
but  Paulsberg  shock  his  head  and  said: 

"No,  I  am  looking  for  Milde.  He  has  not  done 
a  stroke  on  my  picture  to-day." 

"Milde  is  over  in  the  corner,"  said  the  Attorney. 
And  he  turned  to  Coldevin  and  whispered:  "This 


GERMINATION  75 

is  one  of  the  most  prominent  of  our  young  men — 
their  leader,  so  to  speak,  Lars  Paulsberg.  Do  you 
know  him?  If  only  the  rest  were  like  him." 

Yes,  Coldevin  knew  his  name.  So  this  was  Pauls- 
berg?  He  could  plainly  see  that  he  was  an  impor- 
tant personality;  people  craned  their  necks,  looked 
after  him  and  whispered.  Yes,  indeed,  we  had 
quite  a  number  of  writers,  it  could  not  be  denied — 
"  There  came  to  Torahus,  for  instance,  one  of  them 
before  I  left;  his  name  was  Stefan  Ojen.  I  have 
read  two  of  his  books.  He  was  nervous,  he  told 
me;  he  spoke  a  good  deal  about  a  new  school,  a 
new  intention  within  the  realm  of  literature.  His 
clothes  were  silk  lined,  but  he  did  not  put  himself 
forward  much.  Of  course,  people  were  curious  and 
wanted  to  see  him,  but  he  appeared  very  modest. 
I  met  him  one  evening;  his  entire  shirt-front  was 
covered  with  writing,  with  verses — long  and  short 
lines,  a  poem  in  prose.  He  said  that  he  had  waked 
up  in  the  morning  and  found  himself  in  the  throes 
of  an  inspiration,  and,  as  he  had  no  paper  handy,  he 
simply  wrote  on  his  shirt-front.  He  asked  us  not 
to  mind  it;  he  had  two  more  shirts  with  him,  but 
as  they  were  unlaundered  he  had  to  use  that  one  for 
his  verses.  He  read  something  for  us,  things  full  of 
sentiment.  He  gave  us  the  impression  that  he  was 
very  clever." 

The  Attorney  did  not  know  if  this  were  irony  or 
not,  for  Coldevin  smiled  one  of  his  rare  smiles.  But 
he  was  probably  serious. 


76  SHALLOW  SOIL 

"Yes,  Ojen  is  one  of  our  most  significant  ones," 
he  said.  "He  is  beginning  to  create  a  school  in 
Germany.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  his  poetry 
is  unique." 

"Exactly.  I,  too,  got  that  impression.  A  little 
childish,  perhaps;  a  little  immature,  but—  He,  he! 
as  we  were  sitting  there  that  evening  he  sud- 
denly exclaimed:  'Do  you  know,  gentlemen,  why 
I  use  a  capital  R  in  God?'  'A  capital  R  in  God!' 
we  wondered  and  looked  at  each  other  blankly; 
no;  we  did  not  know  why.  But  Ojen  burst  into  a 
peal  of  laughter  and  left—  It  was  a  good  joke;  it 
wasn't  at  all  bad,  he,  he!" 

And  Coldevin  smiled. 

The  Attorney  laughed  with  him.  "Oh,  that  fel- 
low Ojen  could  surprise  you  with  far  better  inven- 
tions; that  was  nothing  for  him.  But  his  writing 
was  euphonious,  his  diction  pure—  Do  you  know 
Irgens?" 

Yes,  Coldevin  knew  his  name.  He  hadn't  writ- 
ten very  much? 

"He  does  not  write  for  the  masses,  no,"  answered 
the  Attorney.  "  He  writes  for  the  chosen  few.  But 
his  friends  know  that  he  has  many  beautiful  things 
unpublished.  Good  God,  what  a  master!  It  is  im- 
possible to  place  one's  finger  on  a  single  thing  he 
has  done  and  say  that  it  is  below  par.  He  is 
sitting  in  the  corner  now.  Do  you  wish  to  meet 
him?  I  can  arrange  it  for  you.  I  know  him  well; 
no  preliminaries  are  necessary." 


GERMINATION  77 

But  Coldevin  asked  to  be  excused.  Some  other 
time;  then  he  could  meet  Paulsberg  and  the  oth- 
ers also —  "So  that  is  Paulsberg!"  he  repeated. 
"One  could  tell  it  when  he  passed  by;  people  were 
whispering  about  him.  Nobody  whispered  when  Ole 
Henriksen  passed  by.  By  the  way,  I  suppose  Mr. 
Henriksen  is  going  to  get  married  now?" 

"I  suppose  so —  Tell  me — is  it  at  all  interest- 
ing to  be  a  tutor?  Isn't  it  a  somewhat  tedious  oc- 
cupation at  tunes?" 

"Oh,  no,"  answered  Coldevin  smilingly.  "Of 
course,  it  depends  a  good  deal  on  both  parents  and 
children.  It  is  all  right  if  one  happens  to  get  among 
good  people.  It  is,  of  course,  only  a  poor  and  mod- 
est situation,  but — I  would  not  change  even  if  I 
could." 

"Are  you  a  college  man?" 

"Theology,  yes.  Unfortunately,  a  rather  anti- 
quated student  now."  And  Coldevin  smiled  once 
more. 

They  continued  the  conversation  for  some  time, 
told  a  couple  of  anecdotes  about  a  university  pro- 
fessor, and  drifted  back  to  the  situation.  Finally 
they  discussed  the  grain  prices.  It  looked  bad;  there 
was  some  talk  of  crop  failures  in  Russia. 

Coldevin  was  absolutely  normal  in  his  talk;  he 
evidently  was  well  informed  and  spoke  quietly  and 
thoughtfully.  When  he  got  up  to  leave  he  asked 
casually : 


78  SHALLOW  SOIL 

"By  the  way,  do  you  happen  to  know  where  Mr. 
Henriksen  went?" 

"To  the  telegraph  office.  He  told  me  he  had 
some  wires  to  send." 

"Thank  you.  I  trust  you  will  pardon  me  for  de- 
scending upon  you  so  informally.  It  is  kind  of  you 
to  allow  me  to  make  your  acquaintance." 

"If  you  are  going  to  stay  awhile  I  trust  we  shall 
meet  again,"  said  the  Attorney  amiably.  Coldevin 
took  his  leave. 

He  walked  straight  to  the  telegraph  office.  He 
remained  outside  awhile;  then  he  ascended  the 
stairs  and  peeped  through  the  glass  doors.  Then 
he  turned,  went  back  to  the  street,  and  made  for 
the  harbour.  He  sauntered  back  and  forth  outside 
the  Henriksen  warehouse  and  glanced  furtively  to- 
ward the  little  office  window.  He  did  not  take  his 
eyes  from  the  window  for  a  long  time.  One  would 
have  thought  he  was  anxious  to  find  Ole  Henriksen 
but  did  not  know  whether  he  was  in  the  warehouse 
or  not. 


II 

IRGENS  was  sitting  in  his  room,  Thranes  Road, 
No.  5.  He  was  in  fine  spirits.  The  elegant  man 
whom  nobody  suspected  of  doing  anything  sat  there 
in  all  secret  and  corrected  proofs  and  slaved  like  a 
farmer.  Who  would  have  believed  it?  He  was  the 
one  in  the  clique  who  talked  least  about  his  work; 
nobody  could  understand  how  he  managed  to  live. 
It  was  more  than  two  years  since  his  drama  had 
been  published,  and  he  had  apparently  not  done  a 
stroke  of  work  since.  Of  course,  he  might  be  work- 
ing quietly,  but  nobody  knew  anything  about  it, 
nothing  definitely.  He  owed  a  lot  of  money. 

Irgens  had  locked  his  door  so  as  not  to  be  dis- 
turbed; he  was  very  secretive.  When  he  had  fin- 
ished his  proof-reading  he  got  up  and  looked  out  of 
the  window.  The  weather  was  bright  and  sunny, 
a  glorious  day.  He  was  going  to  take  Miss  Lynum 
to  the  Art  Exhibition  at  three.  He  looked  forward 
to  this  pleasure;  it  was  really  enjoyable  to  listen  to 
this  unsophisticated  girl's  chatter.  She  had  burst 
upon  him  like  a  revelation;  she  reminded  him  of 
the  first  bird  notes  in  spring. 

79 


80  SHALLOW  SOIL 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  His  first  thought 
was  to  throw  the  proofs  beneath  the  table-cloth,  but 
he  refrained.  He  opened.  He  knew  this  knock;  it 
was  Mrs.  Hanka's  finger  which  knocked  twice  so 
resolutely.  She  entered,  closed  the  door,  and  glided 
over  to  him.  She  smiled,  bent  toward  him,  and 
looked  into  his  eyes. 

"It  isn't  me  at  all!"  she  said,  and  laughed  quietly. 
"I  want  you  to  know  that!"  She  could  not  hide 
her  embarrassment  entirely  and  flushed  deeply. 

She  wore  a  grey  woollen  gown,  and  looked  very 
young  with  her  low  lace  collar  and  her  bare  neck. 

He  said: 

"So  it  isn't  you?  Well,  it  doesn't  matter  who 
you  are — you  are  equally  lovely!  And  what  glo- 
rious weather  you  are  bringing!" 

They  sat  down.  He  placed  before  her  the  proof- 
sheet,  and  she  clapped  her  hands  and  cried:  "Didn't 
I  tell  you?  I  knew  it!  No;  but  you  are  wonder- 
ful!" And  she  did  not  get  tired  of  marvelling 
at  him — that  he  was  that  far  already!  Oh,  but 
wouldn't  it  come  like  a  thunderclap;  not  a  soul  sus- 
pected anything!  They  all  went  around  thinking 
that  he  did  not  work  any  more.  Oh,  Heavens!  but 
nobody  in  the  wide  world  was  half  as  happy  as 
she.  She  smuggled  an  envelope  with  something  in 
it  under  the  proof-sheet  and  pulled  him  away  from 
the  table.  She  talked  all  the  time. 

They  sat  down  on  the  sofa.     Her  happiness,  her 


GERMINATION  81 

violent  joy,  communicated  itself  to  him,  carried  him 
away,  and  made  him  tender  with  gratitude.  How 
she  loved  him,  how  she  sacrificed  herself  for  him 
and  did  for  him  what  she  could!  He  embraced  her 
passionately,  kissed  her  tune  and  again,  and  held 
her  close  to  his  breast. 

"I  am  so  happy,"  she  whispered.  "I  knew  some- 
thing was  going  to  make  me  glad;  as  I  walked  up- 
stairs it  seemed  as  if  I  were  going  into  an  embrace! 
Dearest  boy,  no — the  door !" 

The  sun  rose  higher,  the  thrushes  twittered  pas- 
sionately outside.  The  first  bird  notes  of  spring, 
he  thought  again,  how  unsophisticated  these  little 
creatures  were  in  their  chatter! 

"How  bright  it  is  here!"  she  said;  "it  is  much 
brighter  here  than  elsewhere." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  he  answered  smilingly.  He 
walked  over  to  the  window  and  began  to  pluck 
from  his  clothes  the  fine,  grey  woolly  fuzz  her  dress 
had  left  there.  She  sat  still  on  the  sofa,  her  eyes  on 
the  floor,  blushing,  arranging  her  hair  a  little.  A 
ring  flashed  on  each  of  her  hands. 

He  could  not  remain  there  at  the  window  so 
indifferently.  She  was  beginning  to  notice  it;  she 
looked  up;  and  besides,  she  was  remarkably  beau- 
tiful as  she  sat  there  fixing  her  hair.  He  stepped 
over  to  her  and  kissed  her  as  warmly  as  he  could. 

"Don't  kiss  me,  darling,"  she  said;  "be  careful! 
Look  here — it  is  the  spring  air." 


82  SHALLOW  SOIL 

She  showed  him  a  little  red  spot  on  her  under 
lip.  He  asked  her  if  it  hurt,  and  she  answered  that 
it  was  not  that,  but  she  was  afraid  he  might  catch 
it  from  her.  Suddenly  she  asked: 

"  Listen,  can  you  come  to  Tivoli  to-night?  There 
is  an  operatic  performance.  Couldn't  we  meet 
there?  Otherwise  I'll  die  of  loneliness." 

He  remembered  that  he  was  going  to  the  Art  Ex- 
hibition. What  might  happen  afterward  was  hard 
to  tell;  he  had  better  not  promise  anything.  No, 
he  said,  he  was  afraid  it  would  be  impossible;  he 
had  made  certain  arrangements  with  Ole  Henriksen. 

"Oh,  please — do  come!  I  would  be  so  proud  and 
grateful!" 

"But  why  in  the  world  do  you  want  to  go  to 
Tivoli?" 

"But  there  is  opera  to-night!" 

"Well,  what  of  it?  That  means  nothing  to  me. 
Well,  if  you  like " 

"No,  not  if  I  like,"  she  said  sadly.  "You  seem 
so  indifferent,  Irgens!  Yes,  I  admit  I  should  like 
to  go  to  the  opera,  but —  Where  are  you  going  this 
evening?  I  am  just  like  a  compass-needle  now:  I 
oscillate,  I  may  even  swing  all  the  way  round,  but 
I  hark  constantly  back  to  one  point — I  point  con- 
tinually in  one  direction.  It  is  you  I  am  thinking 
of  always." 

Her  little  bewildered  heart  trembled.  He  looked 
at  her.  He  knew  it  only  too  well — there  was  noth- 


GERMINATION  83 

ing  he  could  reproach  her  with;  she  had  been  more 
than  good  to  him.  However,  all  he  could  promise 
was  that  he  would  come  if  at  all  possible. 

Mrs.  Hanka  had  left.  Irgens  was  ready  to  go 
out;  he  put  his  proof-sheets  hi  his  pocket  and  took 
his  hat.  Had  he  forgotten  anything?  He  had  the 
proofs;  that  was  the  most  important  thing  at  pres- 
ent— the  beginning  of  a  book  which  was  to  startle 
the  community  with  the  suddenness  of  an  explosion. 
He  was  going  to  see  if  his  quiet  industry  would  be 
denied  appreciation.  He,  too,  was  going  to  send  in 
an  application  for  the  government  subsidy;  he  would 
delay  until  the  very  last  day  in  order  to  avoid  hav- 
ing his  name  paraded  hi  the  daily  press  alongside 
all  those  nonentities  who  already  were  licking  their 
chops  in  anticipation  of  this  modest  emolument. 
His  application  should  be  brief  and  to  the  point, 
without  recommendations,  simply  accompanied  by 
his  book.  He  would  tell  nobody,  not  even  Mrs. 
Hanka.  They  should  not  be  able  to  say  that  he 
had  moved  heaven  and  earth  in  order  to  secure  this 
well-earned  encouragement.  But  he  was  curious  to 
see  if  they  would  ignore  him.  He  knew  all  his  fel- 
low applicants,  from  Milde  to  Ojen;  he  did  not  fear 
any  of  them.  He  would  have  preferred  to  stand 
back  and  yield  his  right  to  this  charity,  but  he  could 
not  afford  it;  he  was  obliged  to  accept  it. 

He  brushed  his  clothes  carefully  all  the  way  down 


84  SHALLOW  SOIL 

the  street;  a  little  of  the  grey  wool  still  clung  to 
him — what  a  provoking  dress!  He  dropped  into  a 
printing-office  with  his  proofs.  The  foreman  called 
his  attention  to  a  letter,  an  envelope  with  some- 
thing enclosed,  which  he  found  between  the  sheets. 
Irgens  turned  in  the  door.  A  letter?  Oh,  yes;  he 
had  forgotten  it.  He  knew  this  envelope  and  he 
opened  it  at  once.  When  he  had  seen  what  was  in 
it  he  lifted  his  brows,  greatly  pleased.  The  envel- 
ope he  put  in  his  pocket  without  further  ado. 

Ole  and  Aagot  were  in  the  warehouse.  She  was 
sewing  on  some  red  plush  cushions  for  the  cabin  of 
the  Aagot — doll  cushions,  one  would  almost  think, 
they  were  so  small.  Irgens  put  his  cheek  to  one 
of  them,  closed  his  eyes,  and  said,  "Good  night,  good 
night." 

"So  you  are  going  to  the  Art  Exhibition!"  said 
Ole  smilingly.  "Aagot  has  hardly  spoken  about 
anything  else  all  day." 

"Couldn't  you  come,  too?"  she  asked. 

But  Ole  had  no  time;  just  now  he  was  very  busy. 
"Be  off — don't  disturb  me  any  more;  out  with 
you!  Have  a  good  tune!" 

It  was  the  promenade-hour.  Irgens  proposed 
that  they  take  the  way  through  the  park;  they 
could  then  hear  a  little  music  at  the  same  time. 
Did  she  like  music? 

Aagot  was  in  a  dark  suit  and  wore  a  cape  with 
red  silk  lining.  The  snug-fitting  garment  clung  to 


GERMINATION  85 

her  body  without  a  wrinkle;  around  her  neck  she 
simply  wore  a  bit  of  lace.  The  cape  fluttered  at 
times  with  scarlet  silken  flashes.  She  was  sorry 
to  say  that  she  was  not  very  musical.  She  liked 
to  hear  music,  of  course,  but  she  lacked  a  thorough 
understanding  of  it. 

" Exactly  like  myself,"  answered  Irgens.  "That 
is  funny;  are  you  like  that,  too?  To  tell  the  truth, 
I  understand  music  unpardonably  poorly,  but  I  show 
up  in  the  park  every  day;  it  would  never  do  to  stay 
away."  Much  depended  upon  that;  if  one  did  not 
show  oneself  and  keep  abreast  of  the  procession,  one 
would  soon  be  lost,  submerged,  forgotten. 

"Can  one  be  forgotten  so  easily?"  she  asked. 
"But  that  does  not  apply  to  you,  surely." 

"Oh,  yes,  to  me  as  well  as  to  the  rest,"  he  replied. 
"Why  shouldn't  I  be  forgotten?" 

She  answered  quite  simply: 

"I  thought  you  were  too  well  known." 

"Known?  Oh,  as  to  that,  Lord  help  us!  I  may 
not  be  so  entirely  unknown,  of  course,  but —  You 
must  not  think  it  is  an  easy  matter  to  keep  one's 
head  above  water  here;  one  friend  is  envious,  another 
hateful  and  malicious,  a  third  simply  despicable. 
No;  as  far  as  that  is  concerned — 

"It  seems  to  me,  however,  that  you  are  known, 
and  well  known,  too,"  she  said.  "We  cannot  walk 
two  steps  that  somebody  isn't  whispering  about 
you;  I  have  noticed  it  all  along."  She  stopped. 


86  SHALLOW  SOIL 

"No,  it  is  unbearable;  I  just  heard  another  remark! 
Rather  let  us  go  up  to  the  Exhibition  at  once!" 

He  laughed  heartily,  greatly  flattered.  How 
charming  she  was  in  her  naive  and  unspoiled  way! 
He  said:  Never  mind;  keep  on!  Pay  no  atten- 
tion whatever.  One  got  used  to  this  whispering;  if 
it  amused  people,  what  of  it?  He  himself  never 
noticed  it  any  more;  honestly,  it  did  not  affect  him 
in  the  least.  Besides,  he  wanted  to  let  her  know 
that  to-day  he  was  not  the  only  subject  of  conver- 
sation— what  about  her?  She  could  believe  him  or 
not;  she  was  being  thoroughly  discussed.  One  could 
not  come  to  a  city  like  this  one  and  look  as  she 
did  without  attracting  attention;  she  could  be  very 
sure  of  that. 

It  was  not  his  intention  to  flatter  her;  he  was 
sincere  in  what  he  said.  Still  she  did  not  seem  to 
believe  him. 

They  walked  toward  the  park,  where  the  band 
thundered  Cherubim's  "Overture  to  the  Water- 
Carrier"  across  the  place. 

"It  seems  to  me  this  is  an  altogether  unneces- 
sary noise,"  he  said  smilingly. 

She  laughed;  she  laughed  often  and  heartily  over 
his  remarks.  This  laughter  from  her  fresh  lips,  the 
dimple  in  her  left  cheek,  her  many  cute  and  child- 
like ways,  drove  his  spirits  still  higher;  even  her 
nose,  which  was  somewhat  irregular  in  profile  and 
a  little  too  large,  made  him  almost  feel  as  if  he  were 


GERMINATION  87 

in  love.  Greek  or  Roman  noses  were  not  always 
the  most  beautiful — not  at  all;  it  depended  on  the 
rest  of  the  face.  There  was  no  such  a  thing  as  an 
authorised  standard  for  noses. 

He  chatted  about  one  thing  after  another  and 
made  time  fly:  he  proved  himself  the  poet  who 
could  interest  those  he  addressed  himself  to,  the 
highly  cultured  man,  the  genius  of  scintillating 
words.  Aagot  listened  attentively;  he  tried  to 
amuse  her  and  came  back  to  the  subject  of  music 
again,  to  operatic  music,  which  he  simply  abominated. 
He  had,  for  instance,  never  been  to  the  opera  that 
he  didn't  happen  to  get  a  seat  right  behind  a  lady 
with  a  sharply  bulging  corset  line,  and  he  was  con- 
demned to  stare  at  this  ghastly  back  during  three, 
four  long  intermissions.  Then  there  was  the  per- 
formance itself,  the  brass  instruments  close  to  the 
ear,  and  then  the  singers  who  tried  with  all  their 
might  to  drown  their  blatant  blare  in  a  roar  of 
noise.  At  first  one  would  appear  who  made  strange 
contortions  and  meanwhile  produced  song;  then 
another  would  stalk  forth  who  did  not  want  to  take 
a  back  seat  either,  and  who  likewise  did  his  utmost; 
then  a  third,  a  fourth,  men  and  women,  long  proces- 
sions, an  army;  and  all  sang  their  questions  and 
sang  their  answers  and  beat  their  arms  in  the  air 
and  rolled  their  eyes,  exercising  their  vocal  chords 
without  a  moment's  pause.  Wasn't  it  true?  They 
wept  to  music,  sobbed  to  music,  gritted  teeth, 
sneezed,  and  fainted  to  music,  and  the  conductor 


88  SHALLOW  SOIL 

urged  them  on  frantically  with  an  ivory  hammer- 
handle.  She  might  laugh,  but  it  was  just  that 
way.  Then  all  of  a  sudden  the  conductor  appears 
to  become  terror-stricken  because  of  that  infernal 
noise  he  has  inspired;  he  swings  his  hammer-handle 
as  a  sign  that  there  must  be  a  change.  Now  the 
chorus  starts  in.  This  is  not  so  bad;  the  chorus 
can  pass  muster;  at  least,  it  does  not  use  such  heart- 
rending gestures.  But  in  the  midst  of  the  singing 
another  person  strides  forth,  and  he  spoils  the  whole 
thing  again;  ah!  it  is  the  Prince;  he  has  a  solo — and 
when  a  prince  has  a  solo  of  course  everybody  else 
has  to  keep  still.  But  imagine  this  more  or  less 
corpulent  masculine  person  standing  there,  bellow- 
ing, with  legs  wide  apart!  One  gets  furious;  one 
experiences  a  well-nigh  irrepressible  desire  to  yell  to 
this  fellow  to  get  out,  to  stop  spoiling  the  evening 
for  those  who  wanted  to  hear  some  music — hear  the 
chorus  sing! 

Irgens  was  not  displeased  with  himself — he  at- 
tained his  object.  Aagot  laughed  incessantly  and 
was  hugely  amused.  How  he  did  make  things  in- 
teresting and  give  life  and  colour  to  the  most  com- 
monplace! 

They  finally  got  to  the  Exhibition,  looked  at  what 
there  was  to  see,  and  talked  about  the  pictures  as 
they  went  along.  Aagot' s  questions  were  fully  an- 
swered; Irgens  knew  everything  and  even  told  her 
anecdotes  about  the  exhibiting  painters.  Here,  too, 
they  met  curious  people,  who  put  their  heads  to- 


GERMINATION  89 

gether  and  looked  after  them  when  they  passed; 
but  Irgens  hardly  glanced  to  the  left  or  right;  he 
seemed  entirely  indifferent  to  the  attention  accorded 
him.  He  only  bowed  a  couple  of  times. 

When,  after  an  hour  or  so,  they  started  to  leave, 
they  did  not  notice  in  an  obscure  corner  a  greyish- 
bearded,  somewhat  bald  person,  nor  did  they  per- 
ceive two  fathomless,  burning  eyes  that  followed 
them  as  they  departed. 

On  the  street  Irgens  said: 

''I  wonder—  You  are  not  going  home  at  once, 
I  hope?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  am  going  right  back." 

He  asked  her  several  times  to  stay  a  little  longer, 
but  Aagot  thanked  him  and  said  that  she  wanted 
to  get  home.  There  was  nothing  to  be  done;  she 
could  not  be  persuaded,  and  he  had  to  let  her  have 
her  way.  But  they  could  make  up  for  it  some  other 
time?  There  were  both  museums  and  galleries  she 
ought  to  see;  he  would  gladly  act  as  her  guide.  She 
smiled  and  thanked  him. 

"I  am  admiring  your  walk,"  he  said.  "It  is  the 
most  perfect  walk  I  have  ever  seen." 

She  flushed  and  looked  at  him  quickly. 

"  You  cannot  mean  that,"  she  said.  "I  who  have 
lived  in  the  backwoods  all  my  life." 

"Well,  you  may  believe  me  or  not,  just  as  you 
please —  You  are  altogether  unusual,  Miss  Lynum, 
gloriously  uncommon;  in  vain  I  seek  words  that 


90  SHALLOW  SOIL 

would  describe  you.  Do  you  know  what  you  re- 
mind me  of?  I  have  carried  this  impression  around 
all  day.  You  remind  me  of  the  first  bird  note,  the 
earliest  warm  spring  tones — you  know  what  I  mean — 
that  surge  through  the  heart  when  the  snow  is  gone 
and  the  sun  and  the  birds  of  passage  are  here!  But 
that  isn't  all  about  you.  God  help  me,  I  cannot 
find  the  words  I  want,  poet  though  I  am  supposed 
to  be!" 

"But  I  have  never  heard  anything  like  it!"  she 
cried,  and  laughed  vivaciously.  "I  am  supposed  to 
be  like  all  that?  I  should  like  to  be,  that  much  is 
certain.  If  only  it  were  true!" 

"You  have  come  in  here  from  the  blue  moun- 
tains; you  are  full  of  smiles,"  he  said.  "For  this 
reason  the  description  should  call  to  mind  the  wild 
things — should  have  a  flavour  of  venison,  so  to 
speak.  I  am  not  sure,  though." 

They  were  at  the  warehouse.  They  stopped  and 
shook  hands. 

"I  am  ever  so  much  obliged,"  she  said.  "Aren't 
you  coming  up?  Ole  must  be  in  the  office  now." 

"No,  thanks —  But  listen,  Miss  Lynum,  I  would 
like  to  come  soon  and  drag  you  with  me  to  some 
museum;  may  I?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered  hesitatingly.  "That  is  very 
kind  of  you.  I'll  see —  But  I  thank  you  for  your 
company  to-day." 

She  went  in. 


Ill 

IRGENS  walked  up  the  street.  Where  should  he 
go  now?  He  might  go  to  Tivoli;  there  was  plenty 
of  tune;  in  fact,  it  was  much  too  early;  he  would 
have  to  kill  an  hour  or  so  first.  He  felt  in  his 
pocket  for  the  envelope;  he  had  money;  he  might 
as  well  go  to  the  Grand. 

As  he  entered  the  door  he  was  hailed  by  Jour- 
nalist Gregersen,  the  literary  member  of  the  Ga- 
zette staff.  Irgens  did  not  like  this  fellow;  he  did 
not  care  to  cultivate  his  friendship  in  order  to  get  an 
item  published  in  the  paper  now  and  then.  Pauls- 
berg  had  now  two  days  running  had  a  paragraph 
concerning  his  excursion  to  Honefos:  the  first  day 
about  his  going,  the  second  about  his  return;  Gre- 
gersen had  in  his  usual  accommodating  manner  con- 
cocted two  very  excellent  little  items  about  this 
excursion.  That  such  a  man  could  descend  to  such 
coarse  work!  It  was  said  that  the  fellow  was 
capable  of  greater  things;  he  would  surely  blossom 
forth  some  day;  all  right,  time  enough  then.  Ir- 
gens did  not  care  for  him  very  much  nowadays. 

Unwillingly,  he  walked  over  to  the  Journalist's 
table.  Milde  was  there,  also  the  Attorney  and 

91 


92  SHALLOW  SOIL 

Coldevin,  the  grey  tutor  from  the  country.  They 
were  waiting  for  Paulsberg.  They  had  been  dis- 
cussing the  situation  again;  it  commenced  to  look 
a  little  dubious  now  when  several  of  the  leading 
parliamentarians  had  shown  symptoms  of  vacilla- 
tion. "Just  as  I  have  told  you,"  said  Milde,  "it 
is  beginning  to  be  unbearable  here!" 

Mrs.  Grande  was  not  present.  Mrs.  Liberia 
stayed  at  home. 

The  Journalist  reported  that  the  talk  about  crop 
failures  in  Russia  evidently  had  something  in  it. 
It  could  not  be  concealed  much  longer  in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  the  correspondent  of  the  London  Times 
had  been  sharply  contradicted  by  the  Russian  press. 

"I  had  a  letter  from  Ojen,"  said  Milde.  "It 
looks  as  if  he  were  coming  back  soon;  he  does  not 
appear  to  enjoy  himself  out  in  the  woods." 

All  these  matters  did  not  interest  Irgens  in  the 
least.  He  made  up  his  mind  to  get  away  as  soon 
as  he  could.  Coldevin  said  nothing,  but  glanced 
from  one  to  another  with  his  sombre  eyes.  When 
he  had  been  presented  to  Irgens  he  had  murmured 
a  few  words,  sat  down  again  and  remained  silent. 
Irgens  looked  at  him  languidly  and  was  silent  too. 
When  he  had  finished  his  seidel  he  got  up  to  go. 

"Are  you  leaving  us  so  soon?" 

"Yes;  I  have  got  to  go  home  and  dress.  I  am 
going  to  Tivoli.  See  you  later." 

Irgens  left. 


GERMINATION  93 

"  There  you  see  the  famous  Irgens,"  said  the  At- 
torney to  Coldevin. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  answered  Coldevin  with  a  smile. 
"I  see  so  much  greatness  here  that  I  am  getting 
altogether  bewildered.  I  saw  the  Art  Exhibition 
to-day —  It  seems  to  me  that  our  poets  are  be- 
ginning to  pay  considerable  attention  to  their  per- 
sonal appearance;  I  have  seen  a  couple  of  them; 
they  are  so  groomed  and  patent-leathered — one  can 
hardly  say  they  come  thundering  along  with  foam- 
flecked  bridles." 

"Why  should  they?  The  fashions  have  changed, 
you  know." 

"I  suppose  so." 

Coldevin  was  again  silent. 

"The  fire-and-sword  period  has  passed  by,  my 
good  man,"  said  the  Journalist  patronisingly,  yawn- 
ing across  the  table.  "What  the  devil  can  be  keep- 
ing Paulsberg?" 

When  Paulsberg  at  last  showed  up  they  made 
room  for  him  with  alacrity;  the  Journalist  sat  close 
by  him  and  wanted  to  hear  his  opinion  concerning 
the  situation.  What  did  these  events  portend — 
what  could  be  done  now? 

Paulsberg,  reserved  and  taciturn  as  always,  gave 
a  half  reply,  a  fragmentary  opinion:  What  could  be 
done?  Oh,  one  had  to  try  to  live  even  if  a  couple 
of  parliamentarians  were  to  fail  the  cause.  All  the 
same,  he  was  going  to  publish  an  article  soon;  it 


94  SHALLOW  SOIL 

would  be  worth  while  observing  what  effect  that 
would  have.  He  was  going  to  give  it  to  the  traitors 
good  and  proper. 

Goodness!  Was  he  going  to  publish  an  article? 
That  certainly  would  put  matters  right.  "Not  too 
gentle,  now,  Paulsberg;  don't  show  them  any  con- 
sideration." 

"I  imagine  Paulsberg  knows  exactly  how  gentle 
he  is  going  to  be,"  said  Milde  reprovingly.  "You 
can  safely  leave  that  to  him." 

"Of  course,"  answered  the  Journalist,  "that  goes 
without  saying.  I  had  no  idea  of  offering  any  sug- 
gestions." 

He  was  a  little  offended,  but  Paulsberg  smoothed 
matters  over  by  saying: 

"I  thank  you  for  the  two  notices,  Gregersen.  It 
is  fortunate  for  us  that  you  keep  an  eye  on  us; 
otherwise  people  would  entirely  forget  that  we 
writers  existed." 

The  Attorney  ordered  another  round. 

"I  am  waiting  for  my  wife,"  said  Paulsberg. 
"She  stopped  in  to  borrow  a  hundred  from  Ole  Hen- 
riksen.  I  see  there  is  talk  about  famine  in  Russia — 
Well,  I  can't  say  that  I  have  starved  as  yet." 

Milde  turned  to  Coldevin  and  remarked  pompously: 

"That  is  something  it  wouldn't  hurt  you  to  know 
out  in  the  country:  so  shabbily  does  Norway  treat 
her  great  men!" 

Coldevin  glanced  from  one  to  another. 


GERMINATION  95 

"Indeed,"  he  said,  "it  is  sad."  A  moment  later 
he  added:  "Well,  one  cannot  say  things  are  much 
better  out  in  the  country.  The  struggle  to  live  is 
bitter  there,  too." 

"But,  so  help  me,  there  is  a  difference  between 
poets  and  peasants,  I  should  think!" 

"In  the  country  people  adjust  themselves  to 
the  law  that  the  weak  must  perish,"  said  Coldevin 
quietly.  "For  instance,  people  who  cannot  support 
a  wife  do  not  marry.  If  they  do,  and  if  they  later 
on  have  to  rely  on  others  to  discharge  their  obliga- 
tions, then  they  are  disgraced,  branded  with  shame." 

Everybody  looked  at  the  bald  fellow;  even  Pauls- 
berg  snatched  his  glasses  that  were  hanging  on  a 
cord  across  his  breast,  looked  at  him  a  moment,  and 
asked  in  a  stage  whisper: 

"What  in  the  world — what  kind  of  a  phenom- 
enon is  that?" 

This  happy  word  made  the  friends  smile;  Pauls- 
berg  was  asking  what  land  of  a  phenomenon  this 
was,  a  phenomenon — he,  he!  It  was  not  often  Pauls- 
berg  said  that  much.  Coldevin  looked  unconcerned; 
he  did  not  smile.  A  pause  ensued. 

Paulsberg  looked  out  of  the  window,  shivered  a 
little,  and  murmured: 

"Drat  it,  I  cannot  get  anything  accomplished 
these  days;  this  eternal  sunshine  has  played  me 
the  scurvy  trick  of  paralysing  my  imagination.  I 
am  in  the  middle  of  a  descriptive  passage  about  a 


96  SHALLOW  SOIL 

rainy  season,  a  raw  and  chilly  milieu,  and  I  cannot 
get  anywhere  with  it."  He  mumbled  maledictions 
about  the  weather. 

The  Attorney  was  incautious  enough  to  remark: 

"Why  don't  you  write  about  the  sunshine,  then?" 

It  was  not  many  days  since  Paulsberg  himself,  in 
Milde's  studio,  had  bluntly  expressed  an  opinion  to 
the  effect  that  Attorney  Grande  had  showed  symp- 
toms of  a  certain  arrogance  lately.  He  was  right, 
the  Attorney  was  becoming  a  little  impertinent; 
it  might  be  well  to  put  him  in  his  place  once  and 
for  all. 

"You  talk  according  to  your  lights!"  said  the 
Journalist  oracularly. 

This  reproach  was  received  in  silence;  but  shortly 
afterward  Grande  got  up  and  buttoned  his  coat. 

"I  don't  suppose  any  of  you  are  going  my  way?" 
he  asked  in  order  not  to  show  any  ill  feeling.  And 
as  nobody  answered  he  paid  his  check,  said  good- 
bye and  left. 

More  drinks  were  ordered.  Mrs.  Paulsberg  ar- 
rived in  the  company  of  Ole  and  his  fiancee.  Col- 
devin  moved  as  far  back  as  he  could  until  he  found 
himself  almost  at  another  table. 

"We  had  to  accompany  Mrs.  Paulsberg,"  said 
Ole  good-naturedly;  "we  couldn't  let  her  go  alone." 
And  he  slapped  Paulsberg  on  the  shoulder. 

Miss  Aagot  had  let  a  joyous  exclamation  escape 
her  and  had  walked  straight  over  to  Coldevin,  to 


GERMINATION  97 

whom  she  gave  her  hand.  But  what  in  the  world 
had  become  of  him?  Hadn't  she  kept  a  continu- 
ous lookout  for  him  on  the  streets  and  asked  Ole 
about  him  every  day?  She  was  at  a  loss  to  under- 
stand why  she  saw  him  so  rarely.  She  had  had 
another  letter  from  home,  and  everybody  sent  him 
their  kindest  regards.  Why  did  he  keep  so  en- 
tirely to  himself? 

Coldevin  stuttered  many  brief  replies :  there  was 
no  end  of  things  to  see  and  do,  exhibitions  and 
museums,  Tivoli  and  Parliament;  there  were  news- 
papers to  read,  lectures  to  attend;  he  also  had  to 
look  up  a  few  old  friends.  Furthermore,  it  was  best 
not  to  disturb  a  newly  engaged  couple  too  much. 

Coldevin  smiled  archly;  his  lips  trembled  a  little 
and  he  spoke  with  bowed  head. 

Ole  came  over,  overwhelmed  him  with  the  same 
reproaches,  and  received  the  same  excuses.  Colde- 
vin was  going  to  call  on  them  to-morrow,  though, 
they  could  rely  on  it;  he  had  made  up  his  mind 
before  he  met  them.  Provided  he  would  not  dis- 
turb them,  of  course. 

Disturb?    He?    What  was  he  thinking  of? 

Beer  was  served  and  everybody  talked.  Mrs. 
Paulsberg  crossed  her  legs  and  gripped  the  glass  in 
her  masculine  fashion.  The  Journalist  monopolised 
her  immediately.  Ole  continued  his  conversation 
with  Coldevin. 

"I  hope  you  are  enjoying  yourself  here?    Inter- 


98  SHALLOW  SOIL 

esting  people,  these!  There  is  Lars  Paulsberg;  have 
you  met  him?" 

"Yes,  I  have  met  him.  He  is  the  third  one  of 
our  authors  I  have  met.  No  doubt  it  is  my  fault; 
but,  to  tell  the  truth,  none  of  them  have  made  an 
overwhelming  impression  on  me." 

"No?  That  is  because  you  do  not  know  them 
well  enough." 

"But  I  know  what  they  have  written.  It  seems 
to  me  they  do  not  exactly  soar  to  the  solitary  heights. 
It  is  probably  my  own  fault,  though —  Lars  Pauls- 
berg  uses  perfumes." 

"Does  he?  A  little  peculiarity.  One  must  pardon 
such  men  a  few  oddities." 

"But  I  notice  that  they  treat  each  other  with 
the  greatest  respect,"  Coldevin  continued.  "They 
talk  about  everything;  they  make  excellent  speeches 
on  every  subject  imaginable." 

"Don't  they,  though?  It  is  wonderful  to  listen 
to  them,  I  must  say." 

"But  how  are  you  getting  on — in  the  business, 
I  mean?" 

"Oh,  we  take  one  day  at  a  time.  We  have  just 
turned  a  little  trick  in  Brazil  which  I  hope  will 
prove  satisfactory.  I  remember,  you  are  interested 
in  business  matters.  When  you  come  down  to- 
morrow I  will  take  you  around  and  show  you  how 
we  do  it.  We  will  all  go — you  and  Aagot  and  my- 
self— we  three  old  friends." 


GERMINATION  99 

"I  thought  I  heard  my  name?"  said  Aagot  mer- 
rily and  joined  them.  "Yes,  I  did;  don't  try  to 
fool  me,  Ole.  It  seems  to  me  it  is  my  turn  to  speak 
a  little  with  Coldevin;  you  have  had  him  to  your- 
self long  enough,  Ole." 

And  she  took  Ole's  chair  and  sat  down. 

"The  letters  from  home  are  full  of  questions  about 
you.  Mamma  asked  me  to  see  that  you  were  com- 
fortable at  your  hotel." 

Coldevin' s  lips  quivered  again,  and  he  said,  with 
his  eyes  on  the  floor: 

"How  can  you  bother  with  such  things  now? 
Don't  worry  about  me;  I  am  very  comfortable.  I 
hope  you  are  enjoying  yourself?  Though  I  hardly 
need  to  ask  you  that." 

"But,  do  you  know,  there  are  times  when  I  am 
longing  for  home,  too.  Can  you  understand  that?" 

"That  is  only  the  first  few  days —  It  will  be  a 
little  hard  never  to  see  you  again,  Miss  Aagot — 
I  mean  a  little — that  is— 

"You  talk  so  strangely  to-night,"  she  said.  "You 
almost  make  me  want  to  cry;  honestly  you  do." 

"But,  dear  Miss  Aagot " 

"To  get  married  isn't  the  same  as  to  die,  I'm 
sure." 

Coldevin's  manner  instantly  changed;  he  became 
jocular. 

"Die!  Well,  I  like  that!  But  you  are  right  in 
saying  that  I  have  been  sitting  here  and  depressing 


100  SHALLOW  SOIL 

you  with  my  talk.  It  was  mostly  your  mother  I 
was  thinking  of.  It  was  nobody  else—  Tell  me, 
have  you  finished  the  cushions  for  the  yacht?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Aagot  absently. 

"But  you  have  not  been  in  Parliament  yet?  I 
imagine  you  have  hardly  had  time  for  that  as  yet. 
I  have  been  there  every  day;  but  then  I  haven't 
anything  else  to  do." 

"Listen,"  she  said  suddenly;  "I  may  not  have  an 
opportunity  to  bid  you  good  night  later,  so  I  will 
do  it  now."  She  gave  him  her  hand.  "And  re- 
member, you  have  promised  to  call  to-morrow!  I — 
You  will  make  me  very  happy  if  you  come." 

She  dropped  his  hand  and  got  up. 

He  sat  there  a  moment  as  in  a  trance.  He  heard 
somebody  say:  "What  can  Miss  Aagot  and  Col- 
devin  be  so  deeply  absorbed  in?"  He  heard  that 
Aagot  was  on  the  point  of  answering,  and  he  ex- 
claimed hurriedly: 

"I  shake  hands  with  Miss  Aagot  on  a  promise  to 
call  on  her  to-morrow." 

"Be  sure  and  keep  your  promise,  now,"  he  heard 
Ole  say.  "Well,  Aagot,  I  suppose  we  ought  to  be 
getting  home." 

Ole  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  to  pay  the  waiter; 
the  Journalist  did  the  same,  but  Milde  seized  his 
arm  and  said: 

"Leave  that  to  Ole  Henriksen.  Kindly  pay  for 
us,  too,  Ole." 


GERMINATION  101 

"With  pleasure." 

At  the  door  Lars  Paulsberg  caught  up  with  him 
and  said: 

"Don't  go  away  without  giving  me  the  opportu- 
nity of  shaking  hands  with  you.  I  hear  you  could 
lend  me  these  rotten  crowns." 

Ole  and  Aagot  went.  A  little  later  Coldevin  got 
up,  too;  he  bowed  to  each  of  the  clique  and  departed. 
He  heard  laughter  behind  his  back  and  the  word 
"phenomenon"  several  times.  He  hurried  into  the 
first  gateway  he  passed  and  took  out  from  his  pock- 
etbook  a  little  silken  bow,  hi  the  Norwegian  colours, 
carefully  wrapped  in  paper.  He  kissed  the  bow, 
looked  at  it  a  long  time,  and  kissed  it  again,  trem- 
bling in  the  grip  of  a  silent,  deep  emotion. 


IV 

IT  was  Ole  Henriksen's  habit  to  make  his  rounds 
through  the  business  establishment  immediately 
after  his  early  morning  coffee.  He  was  an  early 
riser  and  had  usually  accomplished  a  great  deal  be- 
fore breakfast,  inspected  store  and  cellars,  read  and 
answered  mail,  telegraphed,  given  instructions  to 
his  clerks;  everything  devolved  upon  him.  Aagot 
kept  him  company  nowadays;  she  insisted  on  get- 
ting up  as  early  as  he,  and  her  little  hands  light- 
ened many  a  task  for  him.  Ole  Henriksen  worked 
more  enthusiastically  than  ever.  The  old  man  did 
nothing  nowadays  but  make  out  an  occasional  bill 
and  balance  up  the  cash-book;  he  kept  to  himself 
up-stairs  most  of  the  time,  and  spent  many  an  hour 
in  the  company  of  some  old  crony,  some  visiting 
ship's  captain  or  business  acquaintance.  But  be- 
fore retiring  old  Henriksen  always  lit  a  lamp,  sham- 
bled down-stairs  to  the  office,  and  took  a  last  sur- 
vey of  the  books.  He  took  his  time;  and  when  he 
came  up  about  midnight  he  retired  immediately. 

Ole  did  the  work  for  both  of  them;  it  was  like 
play  to  him  to  direct  all  these  threads  which  he 
knew  from  the  days  of  childhood.  Aagot  did  not 

102 


GERMINATION  103 

disturb  him  much;  it  was  only  down  in  the  little 
warehouse  office  that  she  was  apt  to  delay  him  at 
times.  Her  youth  and  gaiety  filled  the  little  room, 
glorified  everything,  and  brightened  the  world. 

She  was  so  cheerful  that  she  carried  away  even 
the  phlegmatic  Ole.  He  was  lost  in  her;  he  played 
little  tricks  on  her  and  trembled  with  the  tenderest 
affection  for  this  hoydenish  girl  who  wasn't  even 
full  grown.  When  in  the  company  of  others  he 
appeared  vastly  superior — she  was  his  little  sweet- 
heart; she  was  so  young,  much  younger  than  he, 
it  was  up  to  him  to  display  his  knowledge  and  ex- 
perience. But  when  they  were  alone,  alas!  then  he 
could  not  keep  up  this  pretence;  he  lost  his  seri- 
ousness and  was  a  child  with  her.  He  stole  many  a 
glance  from  his  books  and  papers,  gazed  at  her  se- 
cretly, lost  in  contemplation  of  her  radiant  figure 
and  worshipping  to  distraction  her  dimpling  smile. 
How  she  could  make  his  heart  pound  when  she 
would  glance  archly  at  him  and  then  come  over  to 
him  and  whisper:  "So  you  are  my  boy,  are  you?" 
She  had  so  many  adorable  ways.  At  tunes  she 
could  sit  and  gaze  at  the  floor,  gaze  fixedly  at  some- 
thing which  made  her  eyes  dewy — memories,  per- 
haps— some  old  memory 

Ole  asked  her  at  last  when  she  thought  they 
ought  to  get  married,  and  when  he  saw  her  blush 
deeply,  even  to  her  neck,  he  regretted  that  he  had 
been  too  abrupt.  There  was  no  hurry;  she  must 


104  SHALLOW  SOIL 

decide  that  herself;  no  need  to  answer  now,  not 
at  all. 

But  she  answered: 

"I  am  ready  when  you  are." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door  and  Irgens  en- 
tered. He  came  in  order  to  propose  a  visit  to  the 
sculpture-gallery.  Ole  said  jestingly: 

"I  see!  You  have  chosen  this  hour  because  you 
knew  I  couldn't  come  along!" 

"What  nonsense!  We  have  to  go  when  the  gal- 
leries are  open,  naturally." 

Ole  laughed  loudly. 

"Look,  he  is  getting  mad,  furious,  ha,  ha,  ha!  I 
fooled  you  that  time,  Irgens!" 

Aagot  got  her  hat  and  coat  and  went  with  Irgens. 
Ole  called  after  her: 

"Don't  stay  too  late,  Aagot!  Remember,  we 
have  promised  to  go  with  Tidemand  to  Tivoli." 

On  the  street  Irgens  glanced  at  his  watch  and 
said: 

"I  see  it  is  a  little  too  early  yet.  If  you  have 
no  objections  we  might  take  a  walk  up  toward  the 
Castle." 

And  they  walked  toward  the  Castle.  The  band 
played;  people  strolled  up  and  down.  Irgens  talked 
again  interestingly  and  facetiously  about  different 
matters,  and  Aagot  replied  and  laughed,  listening 
curiously  to  his  words;  at  times  she  would  make 
some  admiring  little  exclamation  when  he  made  a 


GERMINATION  105 

specially  striking  remark.  She  could  not  refrain 
from  looking  at  his  face — a  handsome  face,  rich, 
curly  moustache,  a  somewhat  broad,  voluptuous 
mouth.  He  was  in  an  entirely  new  suit  to-day; 
she  noticed  it  was  bluish  like  her  own.  He  wore  a 
silk  shirt  and  grey  gloves. 

As  they  passed  Our  Saviour's  Church  he  asked  her 
if  she  liked  to  go  to  church.  She  said  yes — didn't 
he? 

"Oh,  no,  not  very  often." 

That  was  not  nice  of  him. 

He  bowed  smilingly.  If  she  said  so,  of  course. 
The  fact  of  the  matter  was  that  he  had  received  a 
rude  shock  once;  it  sounded  silly,  it  was  only  a 
bagatelle,  but  it  proved  of  far-reaching  effect.  He 
was  sitting  hi  this  very  church  on  an  occasion;  a 
high  mass  was  being  celebrated.  The  minister  was 
all  right;  he  was  doing  splendidly.  He  was  even 
eloquent;  he  spoke  convincingly,  with  feeling  and 
pathos.  But  in  the  middle  of  a  most  stirring  per- 
oration hi  which  he,  carried  away  in  an  outburst 
of  spiritual  fervour,  had  meant  to  shout:  "Jews  and 
Gentiles!"  his  tongue  had  tripped  and  he  had  said: 
"Gents  and  Jewtiles!  Gents  and  Jewtiles ! — Im- 
agine these  silly  words  hurled  over  the  heads  of 
the  congregation  in  a  loud,  sonorous  voice!  And 
the  poor  fellow  stood  there  in  full  daylight  and  could 
not  get  away  from  his  miserable  blunder.  I  assure 
you,  it  shocked  me  like  a  cold  shower!" 


106  SHALLOW  SOIL 

It  sounded  genuine  as  he  spoke,  not  at  all  like  an 
episode  invented  for  the  occasion.  Was  it  not  pos- 
sible that  a  particularly  sensitive  soul  could  be  seri- 
ously shaken  by  such  a  grotesque  and  silly  mishap? 
Aagot  could  very  well  understand  it;  and  at  the 
same  time  she  had  to  laugh  over  that  miserable 
"  Gents  and  Jewtiles,"  which  she  repeated  over  and 
over. 

When  they  passed  the  Parliament  buildings,  Ir- 
gens  pointed  to  the  greystone  colossus  and  said: 

"There  we  have  Parliament;  have  you  been 
there  yet?" 

"No,  not  yet." 

Well,  it  wasn't  a  very  cheerful  place  just  now 
— wavering  and  treason  all  along  the  line!  The 
doughty  parliamentarians  lolled  in  their  chairs  and 
chewed  tobacco  and  grew  fat  and  lazy;  they  used 
sonorous  phrases  and  challenged  Sweden  to  a  fight 
with  bare  knuckles,  but  when  time  for  action  came 
— where  were  they  then?  She  had  no  idea  how  he 
and  others  were  boiling  with  indignation  over  this 
display  of  loathsome  cowardice.  And  what  was  the 
mighty  adversary  like?  Sweden!  That  invincible 
world  power  full  of  doddering  senility!  He  must 
compare  Sweden  to  an  octogenarian  who  sat,  dead 
drunk  and  feeble,  and  boasted  of  his  warlike  temper: 
"I'll  never  yield — never!"  And  when  Parliament 
heard  that  quavering  voice  it  grew  palsied  with  fear. 
No,  he,  Irgens,  should  have  been  in  Parliament! 


GERMINATION  107 

How  manly  and  proudly  he  spoke!  She  looked 
at  him  and  said:  "How  zealous  you  are  now!" 

"You  must  pardon  me;  I  always  grow  impatient 
when  our  sovereignty  is  discussed,"  he  replied.  "I 
trust  I  haven't  unwittingly  offended  you  by  tres- 
passing on  your  personal  opinions?  I  am  glad  to 
hear  that." 

They  reached  the  Castle,  turned  aside,  and  en- 
tered the  park;  they  forgot  that  time  was  passing. 
He  had  started  in  to  tell  her  a  story  from  the  day's 
news,  a  scene  from  one  of  the  courts:  A  man  was 
being  tried  for  murder  and  had  confessed.  The 
question  of  mitigating  circumstances  arose,  and  it 
was  decided  that  there  were  mitigating  circum- 
stances. All  right;  penitentiary  for  life.  "Next 
case!"  Suddenly  a  voice  is  heard  from  among  the 
spectators;  it  is  the  murderer's  sweetheart,  who 
shouts:  "His  confession  is  untrue;  he  has  not  com- 
mitted murder!  How  could  he  possibly  have  done 
it;  no  one  who  knows  him  will  believe  it!  And 
there  are  mitigating  circumstances;  you  cannot 
sentence  him,  for  it  wasn't  premeditated  murder! 
No,  Henry  is  innocent!  Won't  any  of  you  who 
know  him  say  that  he  is  innocent?  Why  are  you 
all  silent?"  And  the  lady  was  led  out  of  the  court- 
room. That  was  love! 

Aagot,  the  little  goose,  was  moved.  How  beau- 
tiful— sad  and  beautiful!  And  they  carried  her  out? 
What  a  tragedy! 


108  SHALLOW  SOIL 

"Well,  probably  the  story  is  a  little  exaggerated," 
he  said.  "Love  as  strong  as  that  does  not  grow  on 
the  bushes  nowadays." 

"But  it  does  exist!" 

"Perhaps,  somewhere — on  the  Isle  of  the  Blest — " 
But  this  expression  awoke  the  poet  in  him,  and 
he  rhapsodised.  "And  the  place  was  called  Even- 
rest,  because  it  was  green  and  silent  when  the 
two  arrived.  A  boy  and  a  girl;  she  fair,  bright, 
shining  like  a  white  pinion  against  him  who  was 
dark — two  souls  who  gazed  smilingly  into  each  other, 
who  voicelessly  implored  each  other,  who  closed 
rapturously  around  each  other.  And  blue  moun- 
tains looked  at  them " 

He  paused  abruptly. 

"I  am  making  myself  ridiculous,"  he  said.  "Let 
us  sit  down  awhile." 

They  sat  down.  The  sun  sank,  sank  deeper;  a 
tower-clock  in  the  city  somewhere  boomed  forth 
the  hour.  Irgens  continued  to  speak,  impressively, 
dreamily,  warmly.  He  might  go  into  the  soli- 
tudes this  summer,  he  said;  settle  down  in  a  cabin 
by  the  water  and  row  around  at  night.  Imagine, 
wonderful  nights  in  a  rowboat!  .  .  .  But  he  had  a 
feeling  now  that  Aagot  was  beginning  to  be  uneasy 
because  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  and  hi  order  to 
keep  her  mind  occupied  he  said : 

"You  must  not  believe,  Miss  Lynum,  that  I  go 
around  and  prate  about  blue  mountains  always;  if 


GERMINATION  109 

I  do  it  now  it  is  only  because  of  you.  You  impress 
me  deeply ;  you  enrapture  me  when  you  are  near  me. 
I  know  what  I  am  saying.  It  is  the  loveliness  and 
brightness  of  your  face,  and  when  you  tilt  your  head 
sideways —  Of  course,  this  is  meant  aesthetically, 
impersonally!" 

Aagot  had  given  him  a  quick  glance,  and  this  made 
him  add  the  last  words.  She  did  not  understand 
hun,  perhaps;  the  reason  for  this  last  remark  was 
not  quite  clear  to  her,  and  she  was  on  the  point  of 
saying  something  when  he  resumed  laughingly: 

"I  sincerely  trust  I  haven't  bored  you  too  much 
with  my  nonsense?  If  I  have  I'll  go  right  down  to 
the  harbour  and  drown  myself.  Yes,  you  laugh, 
but — I  want  to  tell  you,  though,  that  your  displeasure 
was  charmingly  becoming  to  you,  really.  I  saw 
that  you  were  provoked.  If  I  may  be  allowed  to 
express  myself  aesthetically  once  more,  I  would  say 
that  for  a  moment  you  looked  as  the  slender,  wild 
fawn  must  look  when  she  lifts  her  head  and  snorts." 

"But  now  I  want  to  tell  you  something,"  she  said 
and  got  up.  "What  time  is  it?  But  you  must  be 
crazy!  Let  us  be  off  at  once!  If  it  is  my  fault 
that  you  have  talked  too  much,  it  is  certainly  yours 
that  I  have  listened  to  you  and  forgotten  the  time 
entirely.  This  is  awful!" 

And  they  hurried  away  down  the  park  slope. 

As  they  were  going  to  turn  toward  the  museum 
he  wondered  if  there  would  be  time  for  a  visit  to-day. 


110  SHALLOW  SOIL 

Perhaps  they  had  better  wait  until  some  other  time? 
What  did  she  think? 

She  stopped  and  reflected  a  moment;  then  she 
laughed  merrily  and  exclaimed: 

"But  we  will  have  to  go,  if  only  for  a  moment! 
We  must  be  able  to  say  that  we  have  been  there. 
No,  this  is  simply  terrible!" 

And  they  hurried  along. 

The  fact  that  she  was  conspiring  with  him  to 
hide  this  peccadillo,  that  from  now  on  they  would 
have  a  sort  of  secret  together,  filled  him  with  a 
warm  pleasure.  He  wanted  to  keep  on  talking,  to 
continue  to  keep  her  interested;  but  she  did  not 
listen;  she  hurried  along  in  order  to  get  to  the  mu- 
seum before  it  should  close.  She  skipped  quickly 
up  the  many  stairs,  ran  past  people  going  out, 
glanced  quickly  right  and  left  in  order  to  identify 
the  chief  works  of  art,  and  asked  breathlessly: 
"Where  is  the  Laocoon  Group?  Quick!  I  must 
see  that!"  They  ran  off  in  a  wild  search  for  the 
Laocoon  Group.  It  turned  out  that  they  had  at 
least  ten  minutes  before  closing  time,  and  they  took 
things  a  little  easier. 

Suddenly  she  imagined  seeing  Coldevin's  dark 
eyes  peering  out  from  a  corner;  but  as  she  took 
a  step  forward  to  look  closer  the  eyes  disappeared 
and  she  forgot  all  about  it. 

"What  a  pity  we  are  in  such  a  hurry!"  she  said 
several  times. 


GERMINATION  111 

When  they  had  rushed  through  the  first  floor  their 
time  was  up  and  they  had  to  leave.  She  talked 
with  Irgens  on  the  way  back  and  seemed  as  pleased 
as  before;  she  gave  him  her  hand  at  the  door  and 
thanked  him,  thanked  him  twice.  He  begged  her 
forgiveness  because  he  had  been  responsible  for  her 
failure  to  view  the  sculptures  thoroughly,  and  she 
smiled  amiably  and  said  that  she  had  had  a  good  time. 

"I  shall  see  you  later  at  Tivoli,"  said  Irgens. 

"Are  you  going  there?"  she  asked  in  surprise. 

"I  have  been  asked  to  come;  I  am  going  with 
some  friends." 

Aagot  did  not  know  that  Irgens  had  received  a 
pressing  invitation  from  Mrs.  Hanka;  she  said  all 
right,  nodded,  and  went  in. 

Ole  was  waiting  for  her;  she  threw  herself  on  his 
neck  and  cried  eagerly: 

"It  was  glorious — the  Laocoon  Group — every- 
thing! We  did  not  have  time  to  see  everything,  that 
is,  to  see  everything  carefully;  but  you  will  take  me 
there  some  time,  won't  you?  Promise!  For  I  want 
you  to  take  me." 

When  later  on  Ole  and  Aagot  were  going  to  Tide- 
mand's  house  on  their  way  to  Tivoli,  Aagot  remarked 
casually : 

"It  is  a  pity  that  you  are  not  a  poet,  Ole." 
He  looked  at  her  in  surprise.     "Do  you  think  so? " 
he  asked. 


112  SHALLOW  SOIL 

Then  suddenly  it  dawned  on  her  what  a  tactless 
thing  she  had  said.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  had 
not  meant  it  at  all;  it  was  just  a  thoughtless  word, 
a  thoughtless,  thoughtless  word.  She  repented  it 
bitterly  and  would  have  given  anything  to  have  it 
unsaid.  She  stopped,  threw  her  arms  around  Ole's 
neck  right  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  and  said  in 
agitation : 

"And  you  believe  it?  It  is  easy  to  fool  you,  Ole! 
Listen — you  don't  for  a  moment  think — I  swear 
I  didn't  mean  it,  Ole.  It  was  so  stupid  of  me  to 
say  it,  but  I  didn't  for  a  moment  think  you  would 
take  it  seriously.  I  want  to  know  if  you  think  I 
meant  it;  tell  me  if  you  do?" 

"Of  course  I  don't,"  he  said  and  patted  her  cheek; 
"not  at  all,  dearest.  That  you  can  make  so  much 
of  a  little  thing  like  that,  you  foolish  child !  He,  he! " 

They  continued  their  interrupted  walk.  She  was 
so  grateful  to  him  because  he  had  taken  it  so  nicely. 
Oh,  he  was  so  good  and  considerate,  she  loved  him; 
Heavens!  how  she  adored  him.  .  .  . 

But  this  little  scene  had  its  influence  over  her 
conduct  all  during  the  evening. 


WHEN  the  performance  was  over  they  all  gath- 
ered in  the  restaurant.  The  entire  clique  was  there, 
even  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Paulsberg;  later  on  Attorney 
Grande  appeared,  dragging  with  him  Coldevin,  who 
followed  unwillingly  and  protestingly;  he  wanted 
to  be  excused.  The  Attorney  had  met  him  outside 
and  had  thought  it  would  be  fun  to  bring  him  along. 

Everything  under  the  sun  had  been  discussed: 
literature  and  art,  man  and  God;  they  had  settled 
the  suffrage  question,  taken  a  fall  out  of  Malthus, 
strayed  onto  the  political  preserves.  It  had  unfor- 
tunately turned  out  that  Paulsberg's  article  hi  the 
Gazette  failed  to  have  the  desired  effect  on  Parlia- 
ment. With  sixty-five  votes  to  forty-four  it  had 
decided  to  postpone  matters  indefinitely;  five  rep- 
resentatives had  suddenly  been  taken  ill  and  could 
not  participate  in  the  voting.  Milde  declared  that 
he  was  going  to  Australia. 

"But  you  are  painting  Paulsberg?"  objected 
Norem,  the  Actor. 

"Well,  wrhat  of  it?  I  can  finish  that  picture  in  a 
couple  of  days." 

It  was,  however,  a  secret  arrangement  that  the 

113 


114  SHALLOW  SOIL 

picture  was  not  to  be  finished  until  after  the  close 
of  the  Exhibition.  Paulsberg  had  expressly  de- 
manded it.  He  did  not  want  to  be  exhibited  in 
mixed  company;  he  desired  solitude,  veneration,  a 
large  window  all  to  himself  on  the  promenade. 
This  was  just  like  Paulsberg. 

When,  therefore,  Milde  said  that  he  could  finish 
the  picture  in  a  couple  of  days,  Paulsberg  answered 
curtly: 

"I  shall  be  unable  to  sit  for  you  at  present;  I  am 
working." 

That  settled  it. 

Mrs.  Hanka  had  placed  Aagot  next  to  her.  She 
had  called  to  her:  "Come  here,  you  with  the  dim- 
ple, here  by  me!"  And  she  had  turned  to  Irgens 
and  whispered:  " Isn't  she  sweet? " 

Mrs.  Hanka  was  again  in  her  grey  woollen  dress 
with  low  lace  collar;  her  neck  was  bare.  Spring 
seemed  to  affect  her;  she  looked  a  little  played  out. 
Her  lips  were  cracked,  and  when  she  laughed  her 
features  were  distorted  into  wry  grimaces  because 
of  these  cracked  lips. 

She  told  Aagot  that  they  were  going  to  the  coun- 
try shortly  and  hoped  to  see  her  there.  They  were 
going  to  eat  currants  and  rake  hay  and  loll  in  the 
grass.  Suddenly  she  turned  to  her  husband  across 
the  table  and  said: 

"  While  I  remember  it,  can  you  let  me  have  a 
hundred?" 


GERMINATION  115 

"I  wish  you  hadn't  remembered  it,"  said  Tide- 
mand  good-naturedly.  He  winked,  jested  happily, 
and  was  delighted.  "Don't  marry,  my  friends;  it  is 
an  expensive  luxury!  Another  hundred!" 

And  he  handed  the  bill  to  his  wife,  who  thanked 
him. 

"But  what  is  it  for?"  he  asked  her  banteringly. 

"I  refuse  to  tell  you,"  she  said,  and  turned  to 
Aagot  in  order  to  avoid  further  references  to  the 
matter. 

Attorney  Grande  and  Coldevin  entered  just  then. 

"Of  course  you  are  coming,"  said  the  Attorney. 
"I  never  heard  anything  like  it!  I  want  you  to 
join  me  in  a  little  drink.  Come  and  help  me,  you 
fellows;  I  can't  get  the  man  inside!" 

But  when  Coldevin  saw  who  were  present  he 
wrenched  himself  free  quickly  and  disappeared. 

He  had  visited  Ole  Henriksen  one  morning  ac- 
cording to  his  promise,  but  he  had  vanished  since 
then  and  nobody  had  seen  him  until  now. 

The  Attorney  said: 

"I  discovered  him  outside;  I  had  pity  on  the 
poor  man,  he  seemed  so  altogether  alone,  and  I " 

Aagot  had  jumped  up  quickly  and  hurried  out- 
side; she  caught  up  with  Coldevin  on  the  stairs. 
They  talked  together  a  few  moments;  finally  they 
both  returned. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said.  "Attorney  Grande 
was  kind  enough  to  ask  me  to  come  with  him,  but 


116  SHALLOW  SOIL 

I  did  not  know  that  there  were  others  here — that 
there  was  a  party  here,"  he  corrected  himself. 

The  Attorney  laughed. 

"Sit  down,  drink,  and  be  merry,"  he  said. 

And  Coldevin  made  himself  at  home.  This  tutor 
from  the  country,  bald  and  grey,  generally  taciturn 
and  restrained,  talked  now  with  and  like  the  rest. 
He  seemed  somewhat  changed  since  his  arrival;  he 
answered  boldly  when  Tie  was  addressed,  and  was 
not  backward  in  expressing  his  opinions.  Journal- 
ist Gregersen  spoke  again  about  the  political  situa- 
tion. He  had  not  heard  Paulsberg  say  anything 
about  it.  What  was  going  to  happen?  What  were 
they  going  to  do? 

"What  can  one  do  about  an  accomplished  fact?" 
asked  Paulsberg.  "Simply  take  it  like  men;  that 
is  all  I  can  say." 

The  Attorney  now  asked  Coldevin: 

"I  suppose  you  have  been  in  Parliament  to-day, 
also?" 

"Yes." 

"You  know,  then,  what  took  place.  What  do  you 
think  of  it?" 

"That  is  not  easy  to  say  on  the  spur  of  the  mo- 
ment." 

"Perhaps  you  haven't  followed  matters  very 
closely;  you  have  just  arrived,  I  understand,"  said 
Mrs.  Paulsberg  amiably. 

"Followed  matters  closely!    I  should  say  he  has; 


GERMINATION  117 

don't  you  worry  about  that!"  cried  the  Attorney. 
"I  have  talked  with  him  before." 

The  discussion  grew  violent.  Milde  and  the 
Journalist  simultaneously  demanded  the  dismissal 
of  the  cabinet;  others  expressed  their  opinion  about 
the  Swedish  opera  they  had  just  attended;  it  ap- 
peared that  not  one  among  them  understood  music 
in  the  least,  and  they  strayed  back  to  politics. 

"So  you  were  not  seriously  shaken  by  what  oc- 
curred to-day,  Mr.  Coldevin?"  asked  Paulsberg  in 
order  to  be  friendly,  too.  "I  am  ashamed  to  confess 
that  I  have  sat  at  home  and  cursed  all  afternoon!" 

"Indeed!"  answered  Coldevin. 

"Don't  you  hear  that  Paulsberg  asked  if  you 
were  shaken?"  said  the  Journalist  sharply  across 
the  table. 

Coldevin  murmured: 

"Shaken?  One  can,  of  course,  not  avoid  feeling 
disappointed  when  such  things  happen.  But  the 
climax  to-day  was  hardly  unexpected  by  me.  As 
I  see  it,  it  was  only  a  last  rite." 

"Oh,  you  are  a  pessimist." 

"Indeed,  no,  you  are  mistaken.    I  am  not  that." 

Beer  and  sandwiches  were  served,  afterward  cof- 
fee. Coldevin  glanced  at  those  present;  he  met 
Aagot's  eyes  looking  at  him  very  gently,  and  this 
agitated  him  so  that  he  suddenly  spoke  out  loudly 
what  was  on  his  mind: 

"Did  this  decision  to-day  surprise  you  so  very 


118  SHALLOW  SOIL 

much,  then?"  And  when  he  received  a  qualified 
affirmation  he  continued,  in  order  to  make  himself 
understood:  "To  me  it  appears  to  be  entirely  in 
harmony  with  conditions  otherwise  prevailing.  Peo- 
ple are  saying  to  themselves:  'We  have  our  liberty; 
the  constitution  guarantees  it,  and  now  we  want 
to  enjoy  it  for  a  while!'  Behold — the  sons  of  Nor- 
way have  become  freemen  and  the  peers  of  any- 
body." 

Everybody  agreed  with  him.  Paulsberg  nodded; 
this  phenomenon  from  the  country  might  not  be 
entirely  impossible,  after  all.  But  he  would  say  no 
more;  he  preserved  an  obstinate  silence.  At  last 
the  Attorney  got  him  started  again;  he  asked: 

"When  I  met  you  at  the  Grand  recently  you  in- 
sisted that  it  was  wrong  ever  to  forget,  ever  to 
forgive.  Is  that  a  principle,  or  how " 

"Yes,  you  who  are  young  should  remember,  should 
always  remember,  the  disappointment  you  have  suf- 
fered to-day.  You  have  put  your  faith  in  a  man,  and 
the  man  has  betrayed  your  confidence;  this  you 
should  never  forget.  One  should  never  forgive,  never ; 
such  wrongs  should  be  avenged.  Once  I  saw  two 
truck-horses  maltreated ;  it  was  in  a  Catholic  country, 
in  France.  The  driver  sat  high  in  his  seat  and  swung 
his  enormous  whip;  it  was  of  no  use,  the  horses 
slipped  and  could  not  budge  the  heavy  load,  even 
though  they,  so  to  speak,  dug  their  hoofs  into  the 
asphalt.  The  driver  got  down;  he  turned  his  whip 


GERMINATION  119 

around  and  used  the  handle;  he  beat  the  horses 
across  their  backs;  they  tried  again,  stumbled 
and  fell,  got  up  and  made  another  effort.  The 
driver  became  more  and  more  enraged  as  people 
gathered  around  and  witnessed  his  dilemma;  he 
went  forward  and  beat  the  horses  across  the  eyes; 
he  went  back  and  struck  them  on  the  tender  spots 
beneath  the  flanks,  and  the  horses  squirmed  and 
stumbled,  and  fell  to  their  knees  again,  as  if  they 
begged  for  mercy —  Three  times  I  tried  to  get 
at  that  brute,  and  every  time  I  was  pushed  back 
by  the  railing  mob  who  wanted  no  interference.  I 
had  no  gun;  I  was  helpless;  I  stood  there  with  a 
penknife  in  my  hands  and  cursed  and  swore  to  high 
Heaven  at  that  barbaric  beast.  Then  somebody 
next  to  me — a  woman,  a  nun  who  carried  on  her 
breast  the  cross  of  Christ — said  mildly  and  reproach- 
fully: 'You  are  committing  an  awful  sin,  sir;  the 
Lord  is  good;  he  forgives  everything!'  I  turned 
to  that  unspeakably  brutal  creature  and  said  noth- 
ing, but  glared  at  her  and  happened  to  spit  in  her 
face- 

This  delighted  the  clique. 

"In  the  face?  How  did  it  turn  out?  The  devil 
you  say!  Did  you  get  away  with  it?" 

"No;  I  was  arrested —  But  what  I  wanted  to 
say  is  this:  Never  forgive;  it  is  brutal;  it  turns  jus- 
tice into  a  farce.  A  kind  act  should  be  repaid 
with  a  still  kinder  act,  but  a  wicked  wrong  should 


120  SHALLOW  SOIL 

be  avenged.  If  one  is  struck  on  one  cheek  and 
turns  the  other  in  forgiveness  and  submission, 
then  goodness  and  justice  lose  all  value.  I  wish  to 
point  out  that  the  result  in  Parliament  to-day  is 
not  altogether  an  illogical  consequence  of  the  con- 
ditions that  have  developed  among  us.  We  for- 
give and  forget  treason  in  our  leaders  and  excuse 
their  vacillation  and  weakness  in  every  crisis.  Now 
the  youthful  element  should  step  forward,  the  young 
Norway,  invincible  in  its  indignation  and  irresistible 
in  its  strength.  But  the  young  Norway  does  not 
step  forward;  indeed  no,  we  have  mollycoddled  it 
with  hymns  and  rot  about  peace  eternal;  we  have 
taught  it  to  admire  gentleness  and  submissiveness ; 
above  all,  to  emulate  those  who  have  reached  the 
highest  degree  of  neutral  toothlessness.  Behold  the 
country's  youth,  strapping  and  full-grown,  six  foot 
tall,  sucking  its  bottle  and  growing  fat  and  harm- 
less. If  some  one  smites  it  on  one  cheek  it  turns  the 
other  accommodatingly,  and  keeps  its  fists  in  its 
pockets  with  admirable  self-control." 

Coldevin's  speech  attracted  not  a  little  atten- 
tion; they  all  looked  closely  at  him.  He  sat  there 
as  usual  and  spoke  quietly,  without  excitement. 
But  his  eyes  blazed,  and  his  hands  trembled  as  he 
awkwardly  bent  back  his  fingers  until  they  cracked. 
He  did  not  lift  his  voice  above  the  normal.  Oth- 
erwise he  did  not  look  well;  he  wore  a  loose  shirt- 
front,  and  this  had  become  disarranged  and  hung 


GERMINATION  121 

lopsidedly  so  that  one  could  glimpse  a  blue  cot- 
ton shirt  beneath.  His  beard  straggled  down  his 
breast. 

The  Journalist  nodded  and  remarked  to  his 
neighbour: 

"Not  at  all  bad!    He  is  almost  one  of  us." 

Lars  Paulsberg  said  jestingly,  and  still  amiably: 

"As  I  said  before,  I  have  done  nothing  but  curse 
all  day,  so  I  guess  I  have  contributed  considerably 
to  the  indignation  of  our  youth." 

Attorney  Grande,  who  enjoyed  himself  immensely, 
was  quite  proud  over  his  idea  of  getting  Coldevin 
to  come.  He  told  Milde  once  more  how  it  had  hap- 
pened: "I  thought  it  would  not  be  very  lively  here, 
and  just  then  I  ran  across  this  fellow  outside,  stand- 
ing there  all  by  himself  looking  in.  It  kind  of  moved 
me,  you  know 

Milde  spoke  up. 

"You  mentioned  the  conditions  now  prevailing. 
If  by  that  you  mean  that  we  are  entirely  surrounded 
by  weakness  and  submissiveness,  let  me  inform  you 
that  you  are  much  mistaken 

"In  that  case  I  do  not  mean  it,  of  course." 

"But  what  do  you  mean,  then?  You  cannot  say 
that  youth  like  ours,  teeming  with  talent  and 
genius,  is  weak  and  of  no  account.  Good  God, 
man!  there  never  was  a  time  when  our  youth  was 
as  rich  in  talent  as  at  present." 

"If  there  was,  then  I  never  heard  of  it,"  said 


122  SHALLOW  SOIL 

even  Norem,  who  had  been  sitting  quietly  at  a 
corner  of  the  table  emptying  glass  upon  glass. 

"Talent?  Now  that  is  an  entirely  different  ques- 
tion, you  know,"  said  Coldevin  quietly.  "But  do 
you  really  think  that  the  talents  within  our  youth 
are  so  sweepingly  great?" 

"He — he  asks  if —  So  our  talents  at  present  do 
not  amount  to  so  very  much,  Mr.  Coldevin?" 
Milde  laughed  contemptuously  and  turned  to  Irgens, 
who  had  kept  aloof  from  the  conversation.  "It 
looks  bad  for  us,  Irgens;  the  phenomenon  does  not 
approve  of  us." 

Mrs.  Hanka  now  spoke;  she  wanted  to  smooth 
matters  over.  It  could  only  be  a  misunderstanding; 
Mr.  Coldevin  would  surely  explain  himself  satisfac- 
torily. Couldn't  they  listen  to  a  man  without  los- 
ing their  temper?  "You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
yourself,  Milde " 

"You  are  not  much  impressed  with  us  who  are 
supposed  to  have  a  little  talent,  then?"  asked  Pauls- 
berg,  still  indulgent. 

"Impressed?  I  must  admit  that  in  my  humble 
opinion  things  are  a  little  on  the  down  grade  with 
us,"  answered  Coldevin.  "I  confess  that  that  is 
my  opinion.  And  it  is  especially  the  country's 
youth  I  am  thinking  of.  We  have  begun  a  slow 
retrogression;  in  plain  words,  we  are  lowering  our 
standards,  we  are  tapering  down  to  a  general  zero. 
The  young  do  not  demand  much  from  themselves 


GERMINATION  123 

or  from  others  any  more;  they  accept  the  diminu- 
tive and  call  it  great;  there  is  not  much,  not  very 
much,  needed  to  create  a  stir  nowadays.  That  is 
what  I  meant  when  I  referred  to  the  general  condi- 
tions." 

"But,  good  Lord!  what  do  you  think  of  our  younger 
writers,  then?"  cried  Journalist  Gregersen,  flushed 
and  angry.  "Our  poets,  yes!  Have  you  read  any 
of  them?  Have  you,  for  instance,  ever  come  across 
the  name  of  Paulsberg,  the  name  of  Irgens?" 

Aagot  could  not  refrain  from  observing  her  old 
tutor.  She  was  surprised  to  note  that  this  man, 
who  invariably  used  to  yield  when  he  was  contra- 
dicted, now  sat  there  with  a  ready  reply  to  every 
remark  and  did  not  look  very  timid  either. 

"You  must  not  take  offence  at  what  I  say,"  he 
begged.  "I  admit  that  I  have  no  business  to  ex- 
press such  opinions  here;  I  ought  to  leave  that  to 
others  who  understand  these  matters  better  than 
I;  but  if  you  want  to  know  what  I  think,  then  I 
must  say  that,  according  to  my  lights,  our  younger 
writers  do  not  seem  to  improve  the  conditions 
greatly.  Of  course,  there  can  be  no  fixed  standard; 
everything  depends  on  the  point  of  view,  and  yours 
is  not  mine;  we  are  bound  to  differ.  But,  anyway, 
our  younger  writers  do  not  lift  the  level  greatly; 
hardly,  according  to  my  understanding.  It  would 
seem  they  lack  the  ability.  Of  course,  that  is  no 
fault  of  theirs;  but  then  they  have  no  right  to 


124  SHALLOW  SOIL 

pose  as  being  greater  than  they  are.  It  is  a  pity 
that  we  lose  sight  of  the  greater  and  make  medi- 
ocrity take  its  place.  Look  at  our  youth;  look 
at  our  authors;  they  are  very  clever,  but —  Yes, 
they  are  both  clever  and  industrious;  they  labour 
and  toil,  but  they  lack  the  spark.  Good  God,  how 
far  they  are  from  squandering  their  treasures!  They 
are  saving  and  calculating  and  prudent.  They  write 
a  few  verses  and  they  print  these  few  verses.  They 
squeeze  out  a  book  now  and  then;  they  delve  into 
their  inmost  recesses  and  conscientiously  scrape  the 
bottom  until  they  arrive  at  a  satisfactory  result. 
They  do  not  scatter  values  broadcast;  no,  they  do 
not  fling  gold  along  the  highways.  In  former  days 
our  poets  could  afford  to  be  extravagant;  there  was 
wealth  untold;  they  towered  rich  and  care-free  and 
squandered  their  treasures  with  glorious  unconcern. 
Why  not?  There  was  plenty  left.  Oh,  no,  our 
present-day  authors  are  clever  and  sensible;  they 
do  not  show  us,  as  did  the  old,  a  flood,  a  tempest, 
a  red  eruption  of  flame-tongued,  primeval  power!" 

Aagot's  eyes  were  on  him;  he  caught  her  glance 
of  rapt  attention,  and  she  made  him  understand 
with  a  warm  smile  that  she  had  listened  to  his  every 
word.  She  wanted  to  show  Ole  how  little  she  had 
meant  her  thoughtless  regret  that  he  was  no 
poet.  She  nodded  to  Coldevin  and  wished  the  poets 
all  they  got.  Coldevin  was  grateful  for  her  smile; 
she  was  the  only  one  who  smiled  at  him,  and  he 


GERMINATION  125 

did  not  mind  the  violent  interruptions,  the  shouts 
and  rude  questions:  What  kind  of  a  phenomenon 
was  he  who  could  assume  this  superior  pose?  What 
world-subduing  exploits  had  he  performed?  He 
should  not  remain  incognito  any  longer;  what  was 
his  real  name?  They  wanted  to  acclaim  him! 

Irgens  was  least  affected  of  them  all;  he  twirled 
his  moustache  and  looked  at  his  watch  to  make 
everybody  understand  how  this  bored  him.  Glanc- 
ing at  Coldevin,  he  whispered  to  Mrs.  Hanka  with 
an  expression  of  disgust: 

"It  seems  to  me  that  this  man  is  a  little  too  un- 
tidy. Look  at  his  collar,  or  bib,  or  whatever  one 
may  call  it.  I  noticed  that  he  put  his  cigar-holder 
in  his  vest-pocket  a  moment  ago  without  first 
putting  it  in  a  case.  Who  knows,  there  might  be  an 
old  comb  in  the  same  pocket." 

But  with  his  air  of  undisturbed  serenity,  with 
his  eyes  fixed  on  a  point  in  the  table,  quietly  indif- 
ferent, Coldevin  listened  to  the  exclamations  from 
the  gentlemen  of  the  party.  The  Journalist  asked 
him  pointblank  if  he  were  not  ashamed  of  him- 
self. 

"Leave  him  alone!"  said  Paulsberg.  "I  don't 
see  why  you  want  to  annoy  him." 

"It  certainly  looks  bad  for  our  poor  country!" 
sneered  the  Journalist.  "No  talents,  no  youth, 
nothing  only  a  ' general  condition.'  He,  he!  God 
only  knows  how  it  will  all  end!  And  we  who  have 


126  SHALLOW  SOIL 

innocently  assumed  that  a  people  should  honour 
and  respect  its  young  writers!" 

Coldevin  seized  on  this. 

"Yes,  but  that  is  exactly  what  people  are  doing; 
nobody  can  justly  complain  on  that  score!  People 
respect  most  highly  a  man  who  has  written  a  book 
or  two;  he  is  admired  far  more,  for  instance,  than 
the  ablest  business  man  or  the  most  talented  pro- 
fessional! To  our  people  an  author  means  a  great 
deal;  he  is  the  essence  of  all  that  is  distinguished 
and  admirable.  There  are  probably  very  few  coun- 
tries in  which  the  intellectual  life  is  dominated  by 
authors  to  the  degree  it  is  here.  As  you  probably 
will  admit,  we  have  no  statesmen;  but  our  authors 
direct  our  politics,  and  they  do  it  well.  It  may 
have  struck  you  that  there  are  barren  spots  in  our 
scientific  attainments;  however,  with  true  intuition, 
our  authors  are  not  afraid  to  assume  the  burden 
and  pose  as  scientists.  It  has  surely  not  escaped 
your  attention  that  in  all  our  history  we  have  never 
produced  a  thinker;  never  mind,  our  authors  dab- 
ble in  philosophy,  and  everybody  thinks  they  do  it 
splendidly.  It  seems  highly  unjust  to  complain  be- 
cause of  a  lack  of  appreciation  of  and  admiration 
for  our  authors." 

Paulsberg,  who  in  his  works  had  repeatedly  proven 
himself  a  thinker  and  philosopher  of  rank,  sat  and 
toyed  with  his  eye-glass  and  smiled  superciliously. 
But  when  Coldevin  added  a  few  words  and  ended 


GERMINATION  127 

up  with  saying  that  he  had  the  greatest  hope  and 
faith  in  the  country's  practical  youth,  hi  its  young 
commercial  talents,  then  a  loud  laugh  greeted  him, 
and  both  the  Journalist  and  Paulsberg  shouted  sim- 
ultaneously that  this  was  great,  by  all  the  saints 
the  best  ever,  so  help  me!  Commercial  talents — 
whatever  could  that  be?  Talents  for  trading — what? 
Glory  be! 

"In  my  opinion  you  will  find  really  great  talents 
within  the  ranks  of  our  business  youth,"  Coldevin 
continued  undisturbed.  "And  I  would  advise  you 
to  pay  a  little  attention  to  them.  They  are  build- 
ing ships,  opening  new  markets,  carrying  on  in- 
volved business  enterprises  on  a  hitherto  undreamed 
of  scale " 

Coldevin  could  not  be  heard;  they  laughed  and 
shouted,  although  out  of  respect  for  their  good 
friends  the  business  men  present  they  endeavoured 
to  change  the  subject.  Ole  Henriksen  and  Tide- 
mand  had  listened  in  silence;  they  were  embar- 
rassed and  did  not  know  how  to  take  it,  but  began 
to  speak  together  in  low  voices.  Suddenly  Tide- 
mand  whispered: 

"Can  I  come  over  and  see  you  to-morrow  about 
a  business  matter?  I  would  like  to  come  early,  about 
ten,  if  you  have  tune  then?  All  right;  thanks!" 

At  Milde's  corner  of  the  table  the  discussion  had 
swung  to  wines — old  wines,  Johannisberger,  Cabinet, 
Musigny.  Milde  understood  the  subject  thoroughly 


128  SHALLOW  SOIL 

and  contradicted  the  Attorney  violently,  although 
Grande,  of  the  well-known  Grande  family,  was  sup- 
posed to  have  drunk  such  wines  since  he  was  a 
child. 

" There  is  no  end  to  your  assertiveness  lately," 
said  Milde. 

The  Attorney  glanced  at  him  and  muttered: 

"Such  a  bit  of  an  oil-painter  will  also  presume  to 
understand  wines!" 

Conversation  strayed  to  the  government  art  sub- 
sidies. Irgens  listened  without  changing  a  feature 
when  Milde  asserted  that  Ojen  was  the  worthiest 
applicant.  It  was  exceedingly  generous  in  Milde  to 
express  such  views;  he  himself  had  applied  and 
needed  the  money  as  much  as  anybody.  Irgens 
could  hardly  understand  it. 

Interest  in  the  preposterous  tutor  had  entirely 
waned.  Nobody  spoke  to  him  any  more;  he  had 
got  hold  of  his  hat,  which  he  sat  and  twirled.  Mrs. 
Hanka  addressed  a  couple  of  questions  to  him  in 
order  to  be  polite,  but  after  answering  them  he  was 
entirely  silent.  It  was  strange  that  the  man  did 
not  notice  how  his  shirt-front  sagged;  the  slight- 
est movement  would  correct  it.  But  he  did  not 
adjust  it. 

Paulsberg  got  up  to  take  his  leave.  Before  he 
went  he  manoeuvred  the  Journalist  into  a  corner 
and  whispered: 

"You  might  do  me  the  favour  to  mention  that 


GERMINATION  129 

I  have  about  half  completed  my  new  book.  It 
might  interest  people  to  know  I  am  at  it." 

Milde  and  the  Attorney  got  up  next;  they  awoke 
Norem,  who  was  dozing  after  all  the  many  glasses 
he  had  emptied,  and  they  got  him  on  his  legs  with 
difficulty.  He  began  to  speak;  he  had  not  quite 
heard  the  last,  the  very  last  of  the  discussion;  how 
had  the  poets  fared?  Oh,  there  was  Mrs.  Hanka; 
so  pleased  to  see  her.  But  why  had  she  arrived 
so  late? 

He  was  finally  led  outside. 

"This  means  a  general  departure,  I  suppose?" 
asked  Irgens,  displeased.  He  had  tried  to  approach 
Miss  Lynum  once  during  the  evening  but  without 
success.  She  had  plainly  avoided  him.  He  had 
noticed  later  on  that  Coldevin's  foolish  remarks 
about  the  poets  and  the  youth  of  the  country  had 
amused  her  inordinately;  what  could  that  mean? 
Altogether  it  had  been  an  unpleasant  evening.  Mrs. 
Hanka  had  sat  there  with  her  cracked  lips  unable  to 
smile  decently,  and  Mrs.  Paulsberg  was  impossible. 
The  evening  was  simply  wasted.  And  now  the  com- 
pany was  breaking  up;  no  prospects  for  livening  up 
one's  spirits  with  a  little  intimate  half-hour. 

Irgens  promised  to  take  his  revenge  on  the  clique 
because  of  the  indifference  it  seemed  to  show  him. 
Perhaps  next  week  .  .  . 

Outside  Tivoli  the  company  parted.  Mrs.  Hanka 
and  Aagot  walked  together  down  the  street. 


VI 

TIDEMAND  came  to  H.  Henriksen's  office  at  ten 
the  next  morning.  Ole  was  standing  at  his  desk. 

Tidemand's  errand  was,  as  he  had  said,  a  matter 
of  business  only;  he  spoke  in  a  low  voice  and  placed 
before  Ole  a  telegram  couched  in  mysterious  words. 
Where  it  said  "Rising  One,"  it  really  meant  "Ten," 
and  where  it  said  "Baisse  U.  S.,"  it  meant  an  ex- 
portation prohibition  on  the  Black  Sea  and  along 
the  Danube,  and  a  rise  in  America.  The  telegram 
was  from  Tidemand's  agent  in  Archangel. 

Ole  Henriksen  immediately  grasped  the  situation: 
on  account  of  the  Russian  crop  failure,  in  connec- 
tion with  the  already  low  supplies,  Russia  was  pre- 
paring to  prohibit  all  grain  exports.  Hard  times 
were  coming.  Norway,  too,  would  feel  the  pressure, 
and  grain  would  soar  to  incredible  prices.  It  was 
necessary  to  get  hold  of  as  much  as  possible  at  no 
matter  what  figure.  In  spite  of  official  Russian  de- 
nials of  the  rumours  in  English  newspapers,  it  seemed 
as  if  America  already  had  scented  the  danger,  for 
American  wheat  was  rising  daily.  From  eighty- 
seven  and  eighty-eight  it  had  risen  until  it  now 
fluctuated  between  one  hundred  and  ten  and  one 

130 


GERMINATION  131 

hundred  and  fifteen.  Nobody  could  predict  to  what 
heights  it  would  climb. 

Tidemand's  business  with  Ole  was  a  proposition 
that  the  two  friends  and  colleagues  join  in  a  specu- 
lation in  American  rye  while  there  still  was  time. 
They  were  to  join  forces  and  import  a  mass  of  rye 
that  should  materially  assist  in  keeping  the  country 
fed  during  the  coming  year.  But  it  was  a  matter 
of  urgency;  rye,  too,  was  soaring;  in  Russia  it  was 
almost  unpurchasable. 

Ole  left  his  desk  and  began  to  walk  up  and  down. 
His  mind  was  working;  he  had  intended  to  offer 
Tidemand  some  refreshment,  but  forgot  it  entirely. 
He  was  greatly  tempted,  but  he  was  up  to  his  neck 
in  other  pressing  engagements — that  Brazilian  af- 
fair had  almost  paralysed  him  for  the  moment,  and 
he  did  not  expect  to  be  able  to  take  his  profits  until 
early  summer. 

"There  ought  to  be  money  in  it,"  said  Tidemand. 

No  doubt;  that  was  not  why  Ole  hesitated.  But 
he  simply  was  not  able  to  do  it.  He  explained  his 
circumstances  and  added  that  he  was  afraid  to  tackle 
anything  more  at  present.  The  speculation  ap- 
pealed to  him,  notwithstanding  his  inability  to  par- 
ticipate; his  eyes  gleamed,  and  he  inquired  eagerly 
into  all  the  details.  He  took  a  piece  of  paper,  made 
estimates,  and  studied  the  telegram  afresh  with  a 
thoughtful  air.  Finally  he  declared  that  he  could 
do  nothing. 


132  SHALLOW  SOIL 

"Of  course  I  can  operate  alone,"  said  Tidemand. 
"I  will  do  it  on  a  smaller  scale,  that  is  all.  But  I 
should  have  liked  you  to  be  in  on  this;  I  would  have 
felt  safer.  I  realise  that  you  cannot  go  further. 
However,  I'll  telegraph  myself;  have  you  got  a 
blank?" 

Tidemand  wrote  out  his  telegram  and  handed  it 
to  Ole. 

"I  guess  that  is  clear  enough?" 

Ole  stepped  back  a  pace. 

"So  much?"  he  exclaimed.  "This  is  a  big  order, 
Andreas." 

"It  is  big.  But  I  hope  the  results  will  justify 
it,"  answered  Tidemand  quietly.  And  unable  to 
control  a  feeling  that  overwhelmed  him  at  the  mo- 
ment, he  looked  toward  the  wall  and  whispered  as 
if  to  himself:  "I  don't  care  how  it  turns  out  or 
about  anything  any  more." 

Ole  looked  at  him  and  asked: 

"Any  news?" 

"No " 

"Well,  we'll  see  how  it  turns  out." 

Tidemand  put  the  telegram  in  his  pocket. 

"I  should  have  liked  us  both  to  be  in  this  enter- 
prise, Ole.  I  must  confess  that  I  am  in  deep  else- 
where, too,  but — I  have  my  ice  to  realise  on.  When 
the  warm  weather  comes  I'll  make  money  on  that, 
don't  you  think?" 

"Decidedly!    As  good  as  ready  money,  ice  is." 


GERMINATION  133 

"So  I  am  not  altogether  on  my  knees.  And  may 
the  Lord  keep  that  sad  fate  from  me,  both  for  my 
own  sake  and  for  the  sake  of  mine!" 

"But  could  you  not  as  a  matter  of  safety —  Wait 
a  moment.  Pardon  me  for  not  offering  you  a  cigar; 
I  know  how  you  like  to  smoke  while  talking;  I  for- 
got. Sit  down  a  moment;  I'll  be  back  directly." 

Tidemand  knew  that  Ole  was  on  his  way  to  the 
cellar  for  the  usual  bottle  of  wine,  and  tried  to  call 
him  back,  but  Ole  did  not  hear  and  returned  in  a 
moment  with  the  old,  fuzzy  bottle.  They  sat  on 
the  sofa  as  usual  and  drank  to  each  other. 

"I  simply  wanted  to  ask,"  continued  Ole,  "are 
you  sure  you  have  considered  everything  in  con- 
nection with  this  American  affair?  I  do  not  flatter 
myself  that  I  can  teach  you  anything,  you  know, 
but " 

"Yes,  I  fancy  I  have  calculated  all  contingencies," 
answered  Tidemand.  "You  notice  I  am  using  the 
term  '  Delivery  within  three  days.'  Success  depends 
on  quick  action.  I  haven't  even  forgotten  to  con- 
sider the  effect  of  a  possible  presidential  change  in 
America." 

"But  wouldn't  it  be  safer  to  place  your  limit  a 
little  closer?  Perhaps  you  ought  not  to  buy  over 
twelve." 

"No;  that  would  not  be  well.  For  you  under- 
stand that  if  Russia  closes,  then  fifteen,  or  even 
twenty,  is  not  too  much.  On  the  other  hand,  if  she 


134  SHALLOW  SOIL 

does  not  close,  then  a  hundred,  yes,  ninety,  is  far 
too  much.  In  that  case  I  am  done  for." 

They  both  reflected. 

"I  believe  this  enterprise  is  going  to  be  lucky," 
said  Tidemand  suddenly.  "Really,  I  feel  it.  You 
know  what  it  means  when  we  traders  have  a  pre- 
monition of  this  kind." 

"How  are  things  otherwise?"  asked  Ole. 

"Well,"  Tidemand  answered  hurriedly,  "it  does 
not  look  so  bad  just  now,  not  at  all.  Things  are 
very  much  as  usual  at  home." 

"No  change,  then?" 

"Well,  no—     I  must  get  back  now." 

Tidemand  got  up.  Ole  followed  him  to  the  door 
and  said: 

"It  wasn't  you  who  didn't  care  how  matters  turn 
out,  was  it?  Well,  I  am  glad  you  came,  anyway." 

The  awkward  fellow!  This  was  Ole  Henriksen's 
way  of  stiffening  a  comrade's  backbone. 

But  Tidemand  did  not  go  at  once;  he  stood  there 
with  his  hand  on  the  door-knob  and  shifted  his  eyes 
nervously  from  place  to  place. 

"It  can  hardly  be  thought  strange  if  I  get  a  little 
downhearted  once  in  a  while,"  he  said.  "Things  do 
not  look  very  bright  for  me;  I  do  my  best  to  fix 
everything  up,  but  I  do  not  make  much  headway, 
not  very  much,  no.  Well,  we'll  have  to  wait  and 
see  how  matters  shape  themselves.  I  think  it  is 
getting  a  little  better,  thank  God." 


GERMINATION  135 

"Does  your  wife  keep  at  home  more  now?  It 
seems  to  me  that " 

"Hanka  has  been  a  good  mother  to  the  children 
lately.  I  have  been  very  happy  because  of  that; 
it  has  brought  us  closer  together,  as  it  were.  She 
is  busy  fitting  the  children  out  for  the  country.  It 
is  wonderful  the  things  she  gets  together;  I  have 
never  seen  anything  like  it — blue  and  white  and 
red  dresses!  They  are  lying  home;  I  look  at  them 
whenever  I  am  home.  Perhaps  I  shouldn't  place 
too  much  faith  in  it.  She  does  not  consider  herself 
married  yet,  she  continues  to  call  herself  Lange. 
That  may  be  only  a  whim.  She  calls  herself  Tide- 
mand,  too;  she  does  not  forget  that.  You  yourself 
heard  last  night  in  Tivoli  how  she  asked  me  for  a 
hundred.  I  am  glad  she  does  that;  I  don't  mind, 
and  shouldn't  have  mentioned  it  if  you  hadn't  heard 
it  yourself.  But  it  happened  to  be  the  third  hun- 
dred crowds  she  had  got  from  me  in  two  days.  Don't 
misunderstand  me!  But  why  does  she  ask  me  for 
money  before  people?  Isn't  that  as  if  she  wanted 
to  give  out  the  impression  that  that  is  the  only  way 
to  take  me,  otherwise  she  wouldn't  get  any?  She 
uses  a  good  deal  of  money;  I  hardly  think  she  uses 
it  for  herself;  I  am  sure  she  doesn't,  for  Hanka  was 
never  extravagant.  She  must  be  giving  it  away;  it 
is  her  affair  if  she  helps  somebody.  She  gets  quite 
a  lot  of  money  from  me  in  a  week's  tune;  some- 
times she  gets  it  when  she  goes  out,  and  she  has 


136  SHALLOW  SOIL 

nothing  left  when  she  returns,  although  she  has 
bought  nothing.  Well,  that  does  not  matter.  As 
long  as  I  have  anything  it  belongs  to  her  as  well 
as  to  me;  that  is  only  right  and  natural.  I  asked 
her  jokingly  once  if  she  wanted  to  ruin  me — make 
a  beggar  out  of  me.  It  was  only  a  joke,  and  I 
laughed  heartily  myself  as  I  said  it.  But  I  shouldn't 
have  said  it;  she  offered  to  leave  the  house  when- 
ever I  wanted  her  to — in  short,  divorce.  She  has 
told  me  that  often  enough,  but  this  time  simply  be- 
cause of  a  joke.  I  said  that  I  was  sorry,  and  I  asked 
her  pardon;  I  had  never  for  a  moment  thought  of 
such  a  thing  as  that  she  might  ruin  me.  'Dear 
Andreas/  she  asked  me,  'can  we  never  get  free  from 
each  other?'  I  do  not  know  what  I  answered;  I 
guess  there  was  not  much  sense  to  it,  for  she  asked 
immediately  for  my  key,  as  she  had  lost  her  own. 
I  gave  it  to  her,  and  then  she  smiled.  'Smile  again,' 
I  said,  and  she  did  it  for  my  sake,  and  said  smil- 
ingly that  I  was  a  big  baby.  Yesterday  morning  I 
didn't  see  her  before  I  got  home  from  the  office. 
She  was  still  working  with  the  children's  summer 
outfit  and  showed  me  everything.  She  took  out  her 
handkerchief,  and  as  she  pulled  it  out  from  her 
dress  a  tie  fell  out,  a  gentleman's  red  tie.  I  made  out 
that  I  did  not  see  it;  but  I  knew  very  well  that  the 
tie  did  not  belong  to  me.  I  knew  it  only  too  well. 
That  is — understand  me  correctly — I  did  not  see  it 
well  enough  to  be  sure  whom  it  might  belong  to.  It 


GERMINATION  137 

might  even  have  been  one  of  my  own  ties,  some  old 
rag  I  have  ceased  to  use.  It  is  a  peculiarity  of  mine 
never  to  remember  my  own  ties;  I  notice  them  so 
little,  I  imagine—  So  things  are  coming  around, 
as  I  said.  And  if  my  big  trade  now  succeeds,  per- 
haps that  will  bring  luck  for  us  all.  It  would  be  fun 
to  show  her  that  I  am  not  such  a  dunce,  ha,  ha!" 
The  two  friends  talked  a  little  further,  after  which 
Tidemand  went  to  the  telegraph  office.  He  was  full 
of  hope.  His  great  idea  was  to  discount  the  crisis, 
to  hold  enormous  supplies  of  grain  when  nobody  else 
should  have  any.  He  would  succeed!  He  walked 
with  a  springy  step,  like  a  youth,  and  avoided  meet- 
ing anybody  who  might  detain  him. 

A  telegram  to  the  foreign  office  announced  five 
days  later  that  the  Russian  government,  owing  to 
the  shortage  of  grain  and  the  dark  outlook  for  the 
coming  harvests,  had  been  obliged  to  prohibit  all 
exports  of  rye,  wheat,  corn,  and  grist  from  the  har- 
bours of  Russia  and  Finland. 

Tidemand's  calculations  had  proven  correct. 


RIPENING 


RIPENING 


TRGENS  had  published  his  book.  This  superior 
soul,  who  never  took  anybody  into  his  confidence, 
had,  to  the  great  surprise  of  everybody,  put  out  a 
charming  volume  of  poems  just  when  spring  was  in 
full  blow.  Was  that  not  a  surprise?  True,  it  was 
two  years  since  his  drama  had  appeared;  but  it 
was  now  proven  that  he  had  not  been  idle;  he  had 
conceived  one  poem  after  another,  and  quietly  put 
them  away,  and  when  the  heap  had  grown  big 
enough  he  had  given  it  to  the  printer.  It  was  thus 
a  proud  man  should  act;  nobody  exceeded  Irgens 
in  strong  and  warm  discretion. 

His  book  was  exhibited  in  the  bookstore  windows; 
people  discussed  it  and  predicted  it  would  attract 
much  attention;  the  ladies  were  enraptured  with 
the  gently  glowing  love  stanzas  scattered  through  it. 
There  were  also  many  bold  and  courageous  words, 
full  of  manliness  and  will:  poems  to  Justice,  to 
Liberty,  to  the  Kings — God  knows  he  did  not  spare 
the  kings.  But  Irgens  noticed  no  more  than  ever 
that  people  admired  him  when  he  strolled  down  the 

141 


142  SHALLOW  SOIL 

promenade.  Gracious!  if  they  enjoyed  looking  at 
him,  that  was  their  affair.  He  was  frigidly  indiffer- 
ent, as  ever. 

"I  must  admit  you  are  a  foxy  fellow!"  exclaimed 
even  Norem,  the  Actor,  when  he  ran  across  him  on 
the  street.  "Here  you  go  along  quietly  and  say 
nothing,  and  all  of  a  sudden  you  set  off  a  rocket 
right  under  our  very  noses.  You  are  unique!" 

The  Attorney,  however,  could  not  help  giving 
him  a  little  dig;  he  laughed  and  said:  "But  you 
have  enemies,  Irgens.  I  was  talking  to  a  man  to- 
day who  refused  to  see  anything  gigantic  in  the 
publishing  of  a  small  volume  after  a  lapse  of  nearly 
two  years  and  a  half!" 

Then  Irgens  flung  back  the  haughty  reply:  "I 
take  a  pride  in  a  limited  production.  The  quantity 
does  not  matter." 

Later  on,  however,  he  inquired  concerning  the 
identity  of  this  detractor.  He  was  not  tortured  by 
curiosity;  people  knew  fortunately  that  he  was 
quite  indifferent  to  public  opinion.  But  anyhow — 
was  it  Paulsberg? 

No,  it  was  not  Paulsberg. 

Irgens  made  a  few  more  questions  and  guesses, 
but  the  pretentious  Attorney  refused  to  betray  his 
critic.  He  made  a  secret  out  of  it,  and  irritated 
Irgens  as  much  as  he  could.  "It  seems  you  are  not 
so  altogether  indifferent,"  he  teased  and  chuckled 
gleefully. 


RIPENING  143 

Irgens  murmured  contemptuously:  "Nonsense!" 
But  he  was  evidently  considerably  bothered  by  this 
defamer,  this  jealous  fellow  who  had  criticised  him, 
and  tried  to  belittle  his  exploit.  If  not  Paulsberg, 
who  then?  Who  among  them  had  done  better  dur- 
ing the  last  two  and  a  half  years?  Irgens  knew  no- 
body; among  the  younger  writers  he  was  absolutely 
paramount.  Suddenly  something  struck  him,  and 
he  said  indifferently: 

"Of  course,  it  is  a  matter  of  absolute  indifference 
to  me  who  the  person  is;  but  if  it  is  that  lout 
Coldevin — Lord,  man!  do  you  really  pay  any  atten- 
tion to  what  such  a  freak  says?  A  man  who  carries 
a  cigar-holder  and  a  dirty  comb  in  the  same  pocket! 
Well,  I  must  be  going;  so  long!" 

Irgens  walked  off.  If  the  enemy  was  this  bar- 
barian from  the  backwoods,  well  and  good!  His 
mind  was  again  relieved;  he  nodded  to  acquaint- 
ances and  looked  quite  cheerful.  He  had  for  a 
moment  felt  aggrieved  that  anybody  should  be 
grumbling  behind  his  back,  but  that  was  now  for- 
gotten; it  would  be  foolish  to  take  offence  at  this 
old  bushwhacker. 

Irgens  intended  to  take  a  walk  around  the  har- 
bour so  as  to  be  left  in  peace;  this  more  or  less 
stupid  talk  about  his  book  had  really  got  on  his 
nerves.  Were  people  now  beginning  to  prate  about 
working  hours  and  quantity  in  connection  with 
poetry?  In  that  case  his  book  would  be  found 


144  SHALLOW  SOIL 

wanting;  it  was  not  so  very  ponderous;  it  did  not 
outweigh  one  of  Paulsberg's  novels,  thank  God! 

When  he  reached  the  harbour  he  suddenly  caught 
a  glimpse  of  Coldevin's  head  behind  a  pile  of  pack- 
ing-cases. Irgens  noticed  the  direction  of  his  glance, 
but  this  told  him  nothing;  the  old  imbecile  was 
evidently  lost  in  some  crazy  meditation  or  other. 
It  was  amusing  to  see  him  so  altogether  unconscious 
of  his  surroundings,  standing  there  agape  with  his 
nose  in  the  air.  His  eyes  were  almost  in  a  direct 
line  with  the  little  office  window  at  the  end  of  Hen- 
riksen's  warehouse;  he  stared  unblinkingly  and  ap- 
parently unseeingly  at  that  particular  spot.  Irgens 
was  on  the  point  of  going  over  in  order  to  inquire 
if  he  perhaps  wanted  to  see  Ole  Henriksen;  he 
would  then  be  able  to  turn  the  conversation  to  his 
book  and  get  the  old  man  to  express  an  opinion. 
It  would  be  quite  entertaining;  the  oaf  would  be 
forced  to  admit  that  he  valued  poetry  according  to 
weight.  But  was  it  worth  while?  It  was  really  of 
no  account  whatever  what  this  person  might  think. 
Irgens  made  a  turn  across  the  docks;  he  looked 
up — Coldevin  had  not  moved.  Irgens  sauntered 
past,  crossed  the  street  on  his  way  up-town.  Sud- 
denly Ole  Henriksen  and  Aagot  came  out  of  the 
warehouse  and  caught  sight  of  him. 

"Good  day,  good  day,  Irgens!"  called  Ole  with 
outstretched  hand.  "Glad  to  see  you.  I  want  to 
thank  you  for  the  book  you  sent  us.  You  are  a 


.     RIPENING  145 

wonder;  you  surprise  your  very  best  friends  even 
— poet,  master!" 

Ole  talked  on,  pleased  and  happy  over  his  friend's 
accomplishment,  admiring  now  one  stanza,  now  an- 
other, and  thanking  Irgens  over  and  over. 

"Aagot  and  I  have  read  it  with  beating  hearts!" 
he  said.  "I  really  believe  Aagot  wept  a  little  now 
and  then —  Yes;  you  did;  no  use  denying  it,  Aagot. 
You  need  not  feel  ashamed  of  that —  What  I 
wanted  to  say — come  along  to  the  telegraph  office, 
Irgens;  then  we'll  drop  in  at  Sara's  afterward,  if 
you  like.  I  have  a  little  surprise  for  you." 

Aagot  said  nothing. 

"You  can  walk  up  and  down  a  little  while  I  tele- 
graph," said  Ole.  "But  don't  get  impatient  if  it 
takes  some  tune.  I  have  got  to  catch  a  ship  before 
it  leaves  Arendal!" 

And  Ole  ran  up  the  stairs  and  disappeared;  Ir- 
gens looked  after  him. 

"Listen — I  want  to  thank  you  for  your  book!" 
said  Aagot  quickly  hi  a  low  voice.  "You  will  never 
know  how  I  have  enjoyed  it." 

"Really?  Truly?  It  is  good  to  hear  you  say 
that,"  he  replied,  full  of  gratitude.  That  she  should 
have  waited  until  Ole  had  left  in  order  to  thank 
him  was  a  charming  and  delicate  tribute;  she  had 
done  it  now  much  more  genuinely  and  warmly; 
her  words  meant  so  much  more  now.  She  told  him 
what  had  especially  stirred  her;  it  was  that  won- 


146  SHALLOW  SOIL 

derful  "Song  to  Life";  never  had  she  read  any- 
thing so  beautiful.  Then,  as  if  she  feared  she  had 
spoken  too  warmly  and  laid  herself  open  to  misun- 
derstanding, she  added  in  an  ordinary  tone  of  voice 
that  Ole  had  been  just  as  enchanted  as  she;  he  had 
read  most  of  it  aloud  to  her. 

Irgens  made  a  wry  face.  Did  she  care  to  have 
things  read  to  her?  Really? 

It  was  intentionally  that  Aagot  had  mixed  Ole's 
name  into  the  conversation.  This  afternoon  he  had 
once  more  asked  her  about  the  wedding,  and  she 
had  left  everything  to  him;  there  was  no  reason  for 
delay.  It  had  been  decided  to  have  the  wedding 
after  Ole  had  returned  from  London  this  coming 
fall.  Ole  was  as  good  as  the  day  was  long;  he  never 
grew  impatient  with  her  and  was  almost  absurdly 
fond  of  her.  He  had  said  that  perhaps  she  had 
better  spend  a  little  time  in  the  house  occasionally. 
She  had  flushed;  she  could  not  help  it;  it  was  dis- 
graceful not  to  have  stirred  a  finger  to  make  herself 
a  little  useful  instead  of  hanging  around  the  office 
early  and  late.  Suppose  she  began  to  think  a  little 
about  their  house,  said  Ole;  she  might  make  up  her 
mind  about  things  they  wanted,  furniture  and  such. 
Of  course,  she  should  have  all  the  help  she  needed, 
but—  Yes,  it  was  only  too  true;  she  had  not  given 
her  new  home  a  thought;  she  had  simply  hung 
about  the  office  with  him.  She  had  begun  to  cry, 
and  had  told  him  how  silly  and  useless  she  really 


RIPENING  147 

was;  she  was  a  goose,  a  stupid  little  goose.  But 
Ole  had  taken  her  in  his  arms  and  had  sat  down 
with  her  on  the  sofa  and  told  her  that  she  was  only 
a  child,  a  charming,  wonderful  child,  but  she  was 
getting  older  and  more  sensible  right  along;  time 
and  life  were  before  them.  How  he  loved  her!  His 
eyes,  too,  were  wet;  he  looked  like  a  child  himself. 
Above  all,  there  was  no  hurry;  she  had  free  hands 
to  decide  and  arrange,  just  as  she  pleased.  Yes; 
they  were  fully  agreed.  .  .  . 

"I  must  confess  I  feared  you  had  lost  interest  in 
us  poets,"  said  Irgens.  "I  was  afraid  we  had  for- 
feited your  good-will  in  some  way." 

She  woke  up  and  looked  at  him. 

"Why  do  you  say  that?" 

"I  had  come  to  that  conclusion.  You  remember 
that  evening  at  Tivoli  when  your  old  tutor  was  quite 
severe  on  us  poor  scribblers?  You  looked  as  if  you 
heartily  approved  of  everything  he  said." 

"No,  you  are  mistaken." 

Pause. 

"I  am  very  glad  that  I  have  met  you,  anyway," 
said  Irgens  as  indifferently  as  he  could.  "Only  to 
see  you  is  enough  to  put  me  in  good  spirits.  It 
must  be  wonderful  to  be  able  to  bring  happiness  to 
others  simply  by  appearing." 

She  had  not  the  heart  to  show  displeasure  over 
that;  perhaps  he  really  meant  it,  strange  though  it 
sounded,  and  she  answered  smilingly: 


148  SHALLOW  SOIL 

"It  would  be  hard  on  you  if  you  depended  on 
me  to  bring  you  good  spirits."  God  knows  she 
had  not  meant  to  pain  him;  she  had  said  it  in  all 
innocence,  without  any  veiled  thought  or  ulterior 
motive;  but  when  Irgens's  head  drooped  and  he 
said  quietly,  "Yes,  I  understand!"  it  occurred  to 
her  that  several  interpretations  might  be  placed 
upon  this  sentence,  and  she  added  hurriedly:  "For 
you  do  not  see  me  very  often.  By  the  way,  I  am 
going  to  the  country  this  summer;  I  shall  probably 
be  away  until  fall." 

He  stopped. 

"Are  you  going  to  the  country?" 

"Yes.  I  am  going  with  Mrs.  Tidemand.  I  shall 
be  with  her  until  fall." 

Irgens  was  silent  and  thoughtful  a  few  moments. 

"Has  it  been  decided  that  Tidemands  are  going 
to  the  country,  then?"  he  asked.  "I  understood 
it  was  not  settled  yet." 

Aagot  nodded  and  said  that  it  had  been  de- 
cided. 

"That  pleasure  has  been  denied  me,"  he  said 
with  a  wistful  smile.  "No  country  joys  for  me." 

"Why  not?" 

She  regretted  her  question  immediately;  of  course, 
he  could  not  afford  it.  She  was  always  so  indeli- 
cate and  awkward!  She  added  a  few  meaningless 
words  to  save  him  the  humiliation  of  a  reply. 

"When  I  want  to  go  to  the  country  I  hire  a  boat 


RIPENING  149 

and  row  over  to  the  island,"  he  said  with  his  sad 
smile.  "Anyway,  it  is  better  than  nothing." 

The  island?  She  grew  attentive.  "Of  course, 
the  island !  I  haven't  been  there  yet.  Is  it  pretty?  " 

"Beautiful!  There  are  some  wonderful  places.  I 
know  them  all.  If  I  only  dared  I  would  ask  you 
to  let  me  row  you  over  some  time?" 

This  was  not  said  in  simple  courtesy;  it  was  a 
request.  She  understood  it  perfectly.  But  she  said, 
all  the  same,  that  she  was  not  sure  she  had  time; 
it  would  be  interesting,  but 

Pause. 

"I  wrote  many  of  my  poems  there,"  continued 
Irgens.  "I  should  like  to  show  you  the  place." 

Aagot  was  silent. 

"Come,  please!"  he  exclaimed  suddenly,  and 
wanted  to  take  her  hand. 

Just  then  Ole  Henriksen  appeared  on  the  stab's 
and  came  toward  them.  Irgens  remained  in  his 
pleading  attitude;  he  said  with  outstretched  hand: 

"Do,  please!" 

She  glanced  at  him  hurriedly. 

"Yes,"  she  whispered. 

Ole  joined  them;  he  had  not  been  able  to  get  hold 
of  Arendal  at  once;  he  could  not  get  a  reply  until 
to-morrow.  Off  to  Sara  now!  He  really  had  a  sur- 
prise for  them — he  carried  in  his  pocket  Ojen's 
latest  work.  They  just  ought  to  hear  it! 


II 

QUITE  a  number  of  the  clique  were  ensconced 
at  Sara's,  drinking  and  gossiping.  Tidemand  was 
there,  happy  and  contented  with  everything.  He  had 
been  all  smiles  since  his  success  with  that  enormous 
enterprise  in  rye.  The  grain  had  begun  to  arrive  and 
was  being  stored  in  his  warehouses,  thousands  upon 
thousands  of  sacks.  They  grew  into  mountains; 
there  was  no  room  for  anything  else;  even  Ole  Henrik- 
sen  had  been  obliged  to  let  him  have  space  for  stor- 
ing. Tidemand  walked  around  and  viewed  this 
wealth  with  pride;  even  he  had  accomplished  some- 
thing above  the  ordinary.  Never  for  an  instant  did 
he  regret  that  he  had  given  such  unlimited  orders. 

Journalist  Gregersen  offered  Ole  one  finger  and 
said:  "You  have  something  on  your  conscience, 
Ole?" 

"Oh,  nothing  sensational,  exactly,"  said  Ole.  "I 
had  a  letter  from  Ojen;  he  sends  me  his  latest  poem. 
Do  you  want  to  hear  it?" 

"Does  he  send  you  his —  Has  he  sent  you  a 
manuscript?"  exclaimed  Milde  in  astonishment.  "I 
have  never  heard  anything  like  it!" 

150 


RIPENING  151 

"Now,  no  personalities!"  warned  the  Journalist. 

"Yes,  but  excuse  me — why  in  the  world  did  he 
send  it  to  you,  Ole?"  asks  Milde  again  and  does  not 
give  in. 

Irgens  glanced  at  Aagot.  She  did  not  appear  to 
be  listening,  but  was  talking  eagerly  with  Mrs. 
Hanka.  Irgens  turned  to  Milde  and  told  him  curtly 
that  there  were  certain  impertinences  which  even 
friends  were  not  supposed  to  submit  to — was  that 
clear  enough? 

Milde  burst  out  laughing.  He  had  never  heard 
anything  funnier.  Did  they  get  offended?  He  had 
not  meant  anything  of  a  harmful  nature,  nothing 
offensive,  mentally  or  physically!  The  idea  simply 
had  tickled  his  sense  of  humour.  But  if  it  wasn't 
funny,  all  right.  .  .  . 

Ole  took  out  his  manuscript. 

"It  is  something  out  of  the  ordinary,"  he  said. 
"Ojen  calls  it  'Memories."1 

"Let  me  read  it,"  said  Norem  quickly.  "I  am,  at 
any  rate,  supposed  to  know  a  little  about  reading." 

Ole  handed  him  the  manuscript. 

"Jehovah  is  very  busy—  "  began  Norem.  "Ojen 
has  expressly  stated  in  a  marginal  note  that  it  is 
not  to  be  Jahve;  now  you  know  it!" 

Jehovah  is  very  busy;  Jehovah  has  much  to  attend  to. 
He  was  with  me  one  night  when  I  wandered  in  the  forest; 
He  descended  to  me  while  I  lay  on  my  face  in  prayer. 

I  lay  there  praying  in  the  night,  and  the  forest  was  silent. 


152  SHALLOW  SOIL 

The  night  oppressed  me  like  an  unbending,  disjointed  ab- 
surdity, and  the  night  was  like  a  silence  in  which  something 
breathing  and  mute  was  abroad. 

Then  Jehovah  descended  to  me. 

When  Jehovah  came  the  air  rushed  away  from  Him  like  a 
wake;  birds  were  blown  away  like  chaff,  and  I  clung  to  the 
sod  and  the  trees  and  the  rocks. 

"You  are  calling  me?"  said  Jehovah. 

"I  call  out  in  my  distress!"  I  answered. 

And  Jehovah  spoke :  "  You  want  to  know  what  to  choose 
in  life,  Beauty  or  Love  or  Truth?"  And  Jehovah  said: 
"You  want  to  know?" 

And  when  He  said :  "  You  want  to  learn  that? "  I  did  not 
answer,  but  was  silent;  for  He  knew  my  thoughts. 

Then  Jehovah  touched  my  eyes,  and  I  beheld : 

I  saw  a  tall  woman  against  the  skies.  She  wore  no  gar- 
ments, and  when  she  moved  her  body  shimmered  like  white 
silk,  and  she  wore  no  garments;  for  her  body  quivered  to- 
ward me  in  rapture. 

And  she  stood  against  the  skies  in  a  sunrise,  yes,  in  a 
crimson  dawn;  and  the  sun  shone  upon  her,  and  a  scarlet 
light  streamed  up  through  the  skies,  yes,  a  light  of  blood 
surrounded  her. 

And  she  was  tall  and  white,  and  her  eyes  were  like  two 
blue  flowers  which  brushed  my  soul  when  she  looked  at  me; 
and  when  she  spoke  to  me  she  entreated  me  and  urged  me 
toward  her,  and  her  voice  was  like  a  sweet  phosphorescence 
with  a  taste  of  the  sea. 

I  rose  from  the  earth  and  stretched  forth  my  arms  toward 
her,  and  when  I  stretched  both  my  arms  toward  her  she 
again  implored  me,  and  her  body  was  odorous  with  rapture. 
And  I  was  gloriously  stirred  in  my  inmost  being,  and  I  rose 
and  gave  her  my  lips  in  the  morning  glow,  and  my  eyes  fell. 

When  I  looked  up  again  the  woman  was  old.  And  the 
woman  was  old  and  hoary  with  years,  and  her  body  had 
shrunk  with  age,  and  she  had  very  little  life  left.  But  when 
I  looked  up  the  sky  was  darkling  toward  night,  yes  dark  like 


RIPENING  153 

night,  and  the  woman  was  without  hair.  I  looked  to  her 
and  knew  her  not  and  knew  not  the  sky,  and  when  I  looked 
toward  the  woman  she  was  gone. 

"This  was  Beauty!"  said  Jehovah.  "Beauty  wanes.  I 
am  Jehovah!" 

And  Jehovah  touched  my  eyes  again,  and  I  beheld: 

I  saw  a  terrace,  high,  beneath  a  castle.  There  were  two 
people  there,  and  the  two  people  on  the  terrace  were  young 
and  full  of  joy.  And  the  sun  shone  on  the  castle,  and  on 
the  terrace,  and  the  sun  shone  on  the  two  people  and  on  the 
gravel  deep,  deep  down  the  abyss,  on  the  hard  driveway. 
And  the  people  were  two,  a  man  and  a  woman  in  the  spring- 
tide of  youth,  and  both  were  speaking  honeyed  words,  and 
both  were  tender  toward  each  other  with  desire. 

"See  the  flower  on  my  breast!"  he  said;  "can  you  hear 
what  it  is  saying?"  And  he  leaned  backward  toward  the 
railing  on  the  terrace  and  said :  "  This  flower  which  you  gave 
me  stands  here  and  murmurs  and  whispers  toward  you,  and 
it  murmurs:  'Beloved,  Queen,  Alvilde,  Alvilde!'  Do  you 
hear  it?" 

And  she  smiled  and  looked  down,  and  she  took  his  hand 
and  placed  his  hand  against  her  heart  and  answered:  "But 
do  you  hear  what  my  heart  says  to  you?  My  heart  throbs 
toward  you  and  it  blushes  with  emotion  for  your  sake.  And 
my  heart  babbles  in  joyful  confusion  and  says :  '  Beloved,  I 
pause  before  you  and  almost  perish  when  you  look  at  me, 
Beloved!'" 

He  leaned  toward  the  terrace-railing  and  gloriously  his 
breast  heaved  with  love.  And  deep,  deep  below  was  the 
abyss  and  the  hard  driveway.  And  he  pointed  his  finger 
down  the  depths  and  said:  "Throw  down  your  fan,  and  I 
will  follow  it!"  And  when  he  had  spoken  his  breast  rose  and 
sank,  and  he  placed  his  hands  on  the  railing  and  made  ready 
for  the  leap. 

Then  I  cried  out  and  closed  my  eyes.  .  .  . 

But  when  I  looked  up  I  saw  again  the  two  people,  and  they 
were  both  older  and  both  in  their  prime.  And  the  two  did 


154  SHALLOW  SOIL 

not  speak  to  each  other,  but  were  silent  with  their  thoughts. 
And  when  I  looked  up  the  sky  was  grey,  and  the  two  walked 
up  the  white  castle-stairway,  and  she  was  full  of  indifference, 
yes  full  of  hate  in  her  steely  eyes,  and  when  I  looked  for  the 
third  time  I  saw  also  anger  and  hate  in  his  glance,  and  his 
hair  was  grey  like  the  grey  skies. 

And  as  they  ascended  the  stairs  she  dropped  her  fan,  one 
step  down  it  dropped,  and  she  said  with  quivering  lips  and 
pointed  downward :  "  I  dropped  my  fan — there  it  lies  on  the 
lower  step — please  hand  it  to  me,  dear!" 

And  he  did  not  answer,  but  walked  on  and  called  a  serv- 
ant to  pick  up  the  fan. 

"This  was  Love,"  said  Jehovah.  "Love  perishes.  I  am 
Jehovah!" 

And  Jehovah  touched  my  eyes  for  the  last  time,  and  I  be- 
held: 

I  saw  a  town  and  a  public  square,  and  I  saw  a  scaffold. 
And  when  I  listened  I  heard  a  seething  sound  of  voices,  and 
when  I  looked  I  saw  many  people  who  talked  and  gritted 
their  teeth  with  joy.  And  I  saw  a  man  who  was  being 
bound,  a  malefactor  who  was  being  bound  with  leather 
thongs,  and  the  malefactor's  countenance  was  haughty  and 
proud,  and  his  eyes  shone  like  stars.  But  his  garment  was 
torn  and  his  feet  stood  naked  on  the  ground,  and  his  clothes 
were  almost  gone,  yes  his  cloak  was  worn  to  almost  nothing. 

And  I  listened  and  heard  a  voice,  and  when  I  looked  I  saw 
that  the  malefactor  was  speaking,  and  the  malefactor  spoke 
proudly  and  gloriously.  And  they  bade  him  be  silent,  but 
he  spoke,  he  testified,  he  shouted,  and  when  they  bade  him 
be  silent  he  did  not  cease  with  fear.  And  when  the  male- 
factor spoke  the  mob  ran  up  and  silenced  his  lips,  and  when 
he  mutely  pointed  to  the  sky  and  to  the  sun,  and  when  he 
pointed  to  his  heart  which  still  beat  warmly,  the  mob  ran  up 
and  struck  him.  And  when  the  mob  struck  him  the  male- 
factor fell  to  his  knees,  and  he  knelt  and  clasped  his  hands 
and  testified  mutely,  without  words,  in  spite  of  the  cruel 
blows. 


RIPENING  155 

And  I  looked  at  the  malefactor  and  saw  his  eyes  like  stars, 
and  I  saw  the  mob  throw  him  down  and  hold  him  on  the 
scaffold  with  their  hands.  And  when  once  more  I  looked  I 
saw  an  axe-blade  write  in  the  air,  and  when  I  listened  I  heard 
the  stroke  of  the  axe  against  the  scaffolding  and  the  people 
joyfully  shouting.  And  while  I  listened  a  single-throated 
cry  rose  toward  heaven  from  people  groaning  with  ecstasy. 

But  the  malefactor's  head  rolled  in  the  dirt  and  the  mob 
ran  up  and  seized  it  and  lifted  it  high  by  the  hair.  And  the 
malefactor's  head  still  spoke,  and  it  testified  with  unquench- 
able voice  and  spoke  loudly  all  the  words  it  uttered.  And 
the  malefactor's  head  was  not  silent  even  in  death. 

But  the  mob  ran  up  and  took  hold  of  the  malefactor's  head 
by  the  tongue  and  lifted  it  high  by  the  tongue.  And  the 
vanquished  tongue  was  mute,  and  the  tongue  spoke  no  more. 
But  the  eyes  were  like  stars,  yes,  like  gleaming  stars  to  be 
seen  by  everybody.  .  .  . 

Then  Jehovah  said :  "  This  was  Truth.  And  Truth  speaks 
even  after  its  head  is  severed.  And  with  its  tongue  bound  its 
eyes  shine  like  stars.  I  am  Jehovah!" 

When  Jehovah  had  spoken  I  fell  on  my  face  and  spoke  not, 
but  was  silent  with  much  thought.  And  I  thought  that 
Beauty  was  lovely  ere  it  waned  and  Love  was  sweet  ere  it 
perished,  and  I  thought  that  Truth  endured  like  stars  ever- 
lasting. And  tremblingly  I  thought  of  Truth. 

And  Jehovah  said :  "  You  wanted  to  know  what  to  choose 
in  life?"  And  Jehovah  said  then:  "Have  you  chosen?" 

I  lay  on  my  face  and  answered,  full  of  many  thoughts: 

"Beauty  was  lovely  and  Love  was  very  sweet;  and  if  I 
choose  Truth,  it  is  like  the  stars,  eternal." 

And  Jehovah  spake  once  more  and  asked  me: 

"Have  you  chosen?" 

And  my  thoughts  were  many,  my  thoughts  warred  might- 
ily within  me,  and  I  answered: 

"  Beauty  was  like  a  morning  glow."  And  when  I  had  said 
this  I  whispered  and  said:  "Love  was  also  sweet  and  glori- 
ous like  a  little  star  in  my  soul." 


156  SHALLOW  SOIL 

But  then  I  felt  Jehovah's  eye  on  me,  and  Jehovah's  eye 
read  my  thoughts.  And  for  the  third  time  Jehovah  asked 
and  said: 

"Have  you  chosen?" 

And  when  He  said  for  the  third  time:  "  Have  you  chosen? " 
my  eyes  stared  with  terror,  yes,  all  my  strength  had  left  me. 
And  when  He  said  for  the  last  time:  "Have  you  chosen?" 
I  remembered  Beauty  and  Love  and  remembered  them  both, 
and  I  answered  Jehovah: 

"I  choose  Truth!" 


But  I  still  remember.  .  .  . 

"Well,  that's  all,"  concluded  Norem. 

Everybody  was  silent  for  a  moment;  then  the 
Journalist  said: 

"I  refrain  from  expressing  an  opinion;  I  notice 
Milde  is  going  to  say  something." 

And  Milde  did  not  refrain;  far  from  it;  on  the 
contrary,  he  had  a  remark  to  make.  Could  any- 
body tell  him  what  it  was  all  about?  He  admired 
Ojen  as  much  as  anybody,  but  was  there  any  sense 
to  all  this  "Jehovah  said"  and  "Jehovah  said"? 
He  wanted  to  be  enlightened. 

"But  why  are  you  always  so  unkind  to  Ojen?" 
asked  Mrs.  Hanka.  "Memories — can't  you  under- 
stand? To  me  it  seemed  beautiful  and  full  of  feel- 
ing; don't  spoil  it  for  me  now."  And  she  turned  to 
Aagot  and  said:  "Didn't  you  find  it  so,  too?" 

"But,  dear  Mrs.  Hanka,"  exclaimed  Milde, 
"don't  say  that  I  am  always  unkind  to  Ojen!  Do 


RIPENING  157 

I  not  wish  him  success  with  his  application  for  the 
subsidy,  contrary  to  my  own  interests?  But  this 
blessed  new  'intention'  is  beyond  me.  Memories — 
all  right.  But  where,  in  Heaven's  name,  is  the  point? 
Jehovah  has  never  visited  him;  it  is  an  invention. 
And,  furthermore,  why  didn't  he  choose  both  Youth 
and  Beauty,  and  Truth  as  well?  That  is  what  I 
should  have  done.  The  point,  I  say!" 

''But  that  is  just  it — there  is  no  definite  point," 
replied  Ole  Henriksen.  "So  Ojen  says  in  a  letter 
to  me.  Its  effect  lies  in  its  euphony,  he  says." 

"He  does?  No,  that  fellow  is  the  same  wherever 
he  goes.  That  is  the  trouble.  Not  even  the  moun- 
tains can  do  anything  for  him.  Goats'  milk  and 
pine  woods  and  peasant  girls  have  not  the  slightest 
effect  on  him,  as  it  were —  I  am  still  at  a  loss  to 
understand  why  he  sent  you  his  manuscript,  Ole; 
but  if  it  is  an  offence  to  ask,  of  course,  then " 

"I  really  don't  know  why  he  sent  it  to  me,"  said 
Ole  quietly.  "He  tells  me  that  he  wanted  me  to 
see  that  he  was  doing  something  and  not  wasting 
his  tune  altogether.  He  is  anxious  to  get  back, 
though;  he  cannot  stand  Torahus  any  longer." 

Milde  whistled. 

"I  understand!    He  asked  you  for  carfare!" 

"I  do  not  suppose  he  has  much  money  left.  That 
could  hardly  be  expected,"  answered  Ole,  and  put 
the  manuscript  in  his  pocket.  "As  for  me,  I  think  it 
is  a  remarkable  poem,  irrespective  of  your  opinion." 


158  SHALLOW  SOIL 

"Surely,  old  fellow;  but  please  don't  talk  about 
poetry,"  interrupted  Milde.  And  as  it  dawned  on 
him  that  he  had  been  a  little  too  rude  to  the  poor 
peddler  in  Aagot's  presence,  he  added  hurriedly:  "I 
mean —  Isn't  it  too  much  of  a  bore  to  talk  about 
poetry  and  poetry  all  the  tune?  Give  us,  for  a 
change,  a  little  fishery  talk,  a  little  railway  politics — 
Isn't  it  a  fierce  lot  of  rye  you  are  storing,  Tide- 
mand?" 

As  Tidemand  saw  many  eyes  upon  him,  he  could 
not  entirely  ignore  the  Artist's  question,  and  he 
answered : 

"Yes,  I  have  tried  to  strike  a  modest  blow;  I 
cannot  deny  it.  It  all  depends  now  on  how  things 
turn  out  in  Russia.  If,  in  spite  of  everything  that 
had  been  forecasted,  the  crops  should  prove  even 
middling,  it  does  not  look  any  too  bright  for  me  and 
my  rye.  Rains  in  Russia  now  would  mean— 

"Rains  are  falling  now,"  said  Gregersen.  "The 
English  papers  have  been  informed  of  a  sufficient 
rainfall  in  the  larger  provinces.  Are  you  selling 
your  rye  already?" 

Of  course,  Tidemand  had  bought  to  sell  if  he  could 
get  his  price. 

Milde  had  moved  over  to  Paulsberg,  and  spoke  to 
him  in  a  low  whisper.  0 Jen's  prose  poem  had  caused 
him  some  anxiety.  Perhaps,  after  all,  there  was 
something  to  this  fellow,  this  competitor  hi  the  mat- 
ter of  the  subsidy.  What  was  Paulsberg's  opinion? 


RIPENING  159 

"You  know  I  don't  care  to  speak  for  or  against 
in  such  a  matter,"  said  Paulsberg.  "But  I  have 
called  at  the  ministry  a  few  times  and  expressed  my 
preference.  I  hope  it  may  carry  some  weight." 

"Of  course,  of  course,  I  didn't  mean —  Well,  the 
Exhibition  closes  to-morrow.  We  ought  to  get  busy 
and  finish  that  picture  of  yours.  Can  you  sit  to- 
morrow?" 

Paulsberg  nodded  and  turned  away. 

Irgens  had  gradually  lost  his  good  spirits;  it  irri- 
tated him  that  no  one  had  mentioned  his  book.  It 
was  the  latest  event;  why  wasn't  it  even  referred 
to?  Everybody  was  only  too  familiar  with  Ojen's 
filigree  fancies.  Irgens  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
Paulsberg  had  not  indicated  approval  of  his  book 
by  a  single  word.  Perhaps  he  was  waiting  to  be 
asked?  But  Irgens  could  get  along  without  Pauls- 
berg's  opinion. 

Irgens  rose. 

"Are  you  going?"  asked  Mrs.  Hanka. 

Irgens  said  good  night  to  her  and  to  Miss  Aagot, 
nodded  to  the  others,  and  left  Sara's. 

He  had  only  gone  a  few  steps  when  he  heard  some- 
body call  him.  Mrs.  Hanka  was  hurrying  after 
him;  she  had  left  her  wraps  in  the  cafe  and  had 
followed  in  order  to  say  good  night  properly.  Wasn't 
that  nice  of  her?  She  smiled  and  was  very  happy. 

"I  have  hardly  seen  you  since  I  got  your  book. 
How  I  have  enjoyed  every  word!"  she  exclaimed, 


160  SHALLOW  SOIL 

and  put  her  hand  in  his  coat  pocket  in  order  to  be 
close  to  him.  He  felt  that  she  left  an  envelope  in 
his  pocket.  "Oh,  your  verses,  your  verses!"  she 
said  again  and  again. 

He  could  not  remain  impassive  in  the  presence  of 
this  warm  admiration.  He  wanted  to  return  it,  to 
show  her  how  fond  he  was  of  her,  and  while  in  this 
mood  he  confided  to  her  that  he,  too,  had  applied 
for  the  subsidy.  What  did  she  think  of  that?  He 
had  really  applied,  briefly  and  without  enclosing  any 
recommendations,  simply  sending  his  book.  That 
ought  to  be  sufficient. 

Mrs.  Hanka  did  not  answer  at  once. 

"You  have  suffered,  then,"  she  said;  "you  have 
lacked —  I  mean,  you  have  had  to  apply  like  the 
others " 

"Well,  good  Lord,"  he  answered,  and  laughed, 
"what  are  the  subsidies  for,  anyway?  I  have  not 
suffered  want;  but  why  not  apply  when  one  can  do 
it  without  loss  of  prestige?  And  I  did  not  humble 
myself;  be  sure  of  that.  '  I  hereby  apply  for  the  sub- 
sidy and  enclose  my  last  book ' — that  was  all.  There 
was  no  kowtowing  whatever.  And  when  I  survey 
my  fellow  applicants  I  hardly  think  I  shall  be  en- 
tirely eclipsed.  What  is  your  opinion?" 

She  smiled  and  said: 

"No,  you  will  not  be  eclipsed." 

He  put  his  arm  around  her  and  said : 

"Now,  Hanka,  you  must  go  back —    I  can  endure 


RIPENING  161 

it  all  as  long  as  you  are  in  town,  but  when  you  go 
away  it  will  look  very  dark  for  me!  I  shan't  know 
what  to  do  with  myself  then." 

"I  am  only  going  to  the  country,"  she  said. 

"Isn't  that  enough?  We  shall  be  separated  just 
the  same,  for  you  know  I  cannot  leave  the  city. 
When  are  you  going?" 

"I  imagine  in  about  a  week." 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  go  away,  Hanka!"  he  ex- 
claimed, and  stood  still. 

Mrs.  Hanka  reflected. 

"Would  it  really  please  you  so  much  if  I  stayed?" 
she  asked.  "All  right;  then  I'll  stay.  Yes,  I  will. 
It  will  be  hard  on  the  children,  but —  Anyway,  it 
is  enough  for  me  that  I  make  you  glad." 

They  had  reached  Sara's  once  more. 

"Good  night,"  he  said  happily.  "Thank  you, 
Hanka!  When  shall  I  see  you  again?  I  am  long- 
ing  " 


Ill 

THREE  days  later  Irgens  received  a  note  from  Mrs. 
Hanka. 

He  was  down-town;  he  had  met  a  few  acquaint- 
ances; he  did  not  say  much,  but  was  in  a  satisfied 
frame  of  mind.  He  had  taken  a  look  at  Paulsberg's 
great  portrait  which  was  now  exhibited  in  the  Arrow, 
in  the  large  window  which  everybody  had  to  pass; 
people  crowded  in  front  of  it  continually.  The  paint- 
ing was  elegant  and  obtrusive;  Paulsberg's  well- 
groomed  form  looked  very  distinguished  in  the  plain 
cane-bottomed  chair,  and  people  wondered  if  that 
was  the  chair  in  which  he  had  written  his  books. 
All  the  newspapers  had  mentioned  the  picture  in 
flattering  terms. 

Irgens  had  a  glass  of  wine  in  front  of  him  and  lis- 
tened abstractedly  to  the  conversation.  Tidemand 
was  still  optimistic;  that  bit  of  rain  in  Russia  had 
not  depressed  his  hopes.  The  prices  were  not  soar- 
ing as  yet,  but  they  surely  would.  Suddenly  Irgens 
pricked  up  his  ears:  Tidemand  was  talking  about 
their  summer  plans. 

"We  are  not  going  to  the  country  after  all,"  he 

162 


RIPENING  163 

said;  "Hanka  thought —  In  fact,  I  told  her  plainly 
that  if  she  wanted  to  go  she  would  have  to  go  alone; 
I  was  too  busy  to  think  of  getting  off.  Hanka  was 
very  nice  about  it;  she  agreed  to  stay  in  the  city." 

The  door  opened  and  Milde  entered.  The  cor- 
pulent chap  beamed  happily  and  shouted,  full  of 
the  great  sensation  he  was  going  to  spring : 

"Congratulate  me,  good  people,  I  have  won  the 
prize!  Imagine,  in  its  inscrutable  wisdom  the  min- 
istry has  chosen  to  bestow  the  subsidy  upon  me!" 

"Have  you  received  the  subsidy?"  asked  Irgens 
slowly. 

"Yes,  can  you  understand  it?  How  it  happened 
I  am  at  a  loss  to  know.  I  got  it  from  under  your 
very  noses!  I  hear  that  you,  too,  applied,  Irgens?" 

Silence  fell  upon  the  crowd  at  the  table.  Nobody 
had  expected  that,'  and  they  were  all  wondering  what 
influence  had  been  brought  to  bear.  Milde  had  got 
the  subsidy — what  next? 

"Well,  I  congratulate  you!"  said  Tidemand,  and 
gave  Milde  his  hand. 

"Thank  you,"  Milde  replied.  "I  want  you  to 
lend  me  some  money  now,  so  that  I  can  celebrate 
properly;  you'll  get  it  back  when  I  cash  in." 

Irgens  looked  at  his  watch  as  if  he  suddenly  re- 
membered something  and  got  up. 

"I,  too,  congratulate  you,"  he  said.  "I  am  sorry 
to  have  to  leave  at  once;  I  have  to—  No;  my  ob- 
ject in  applying  was  an  entirely  different  one;  I'll 


164  SHALLOW  SOIL 

tell  you  about  it  later,"  he  added  in  order  to  hide 
his  disappointment. 

Irgens  went  home.  So  Milde  had  been  chosen! 
That  was  the  way  Norway  rewarded  her  talents. 
Here  he  had  hurled  his  inspired  lyric  in  their  faces, 
and  they  did  not  even  know  what  it  was!  Whom  had 
they  preferred?  None  other  than  oil-painter  Milde, 
collector  of  ladies'  corsets! 

Of  course,  he  knew  how  it  had  happened;  Pauls- 
berg  was  behind  it.  Paulsberg  had  supported 
Milde' s  application,  and  Milde  had  painted  Pauls- 
berg's  picture.  A  simon-pure  advertising  conspir- 
acy! And  when  Irgens  passed  the  Arrow  and  saw 
the  painting  he  spat  contemptuously  on  the  pave- 
ment. He  had  seen  through  this  hypocritical  scur- 
viness.  However,  he  would  find  means  to  make 
himself  felt. 

But  why  in  the  world  should  Lars  Paulsberg  be 
allowed  to  dispose  of  these  subsidies?  True,  he 
had  never  let  slip  an  opportunity  to  ingratiate  him- 
self with  the  newspapers;  he  had  his  press-agents; 
he  took  good  care  that  his  name  shouldn't  be  for- 
gotten. But  apart  from  that?  Alas,  a  few  novels 
in  the  style  of  the  seventies,  a  popular  and  ama- 
teurish criticism  of  such  a  moss-grown  dogma  as 
the  Atonement!  What  did  it  amount  to  when  one 
looked  at  it  critically?  But  the  fact  that  he  had  the 
press  behind  him  made  his  words  carry  weight.  Yes, 
he  was  certainly  a  shrewd  and  thrifty  soul,  a  real 


RIPENING  165 

backwoods  bargain-hunter.  He  knew  what  he  was 
doing  when  he  even  allowed  his  wife  to  accept 
Journalist  Gregersen's  beer-perfumed  attentions! 
Faugh,  what  a  sordid  mess! 

Well,  he  was  not  going  to  gain  success  by  employ- 
ing such  methods;  he  hoped  he  would  manage  to 
get  along  without  unfairness.  He  had  one  weapon — 
his  pen.  That  was  the  kind  of  man  he  was. 

He  went  home  and  locked  his  door.  There  would 
still  be  time  to  regain  his  composure  before  Mrs. 
Hanka's  arrival.  He  tried  to  write,  but  found  it 
impossible.  He  paced  back  and  forth  furiously,  pale 
with  anger,  bitter  and  vindictive  because  of  this 
defeat.  He  would,  by  Heaven,  avenge  this  wrong; 
no  gentle  words  were  to  flow  from  his  pen  hence- 
forth! 

At  last  Mrs.  Hanka  arrived. 

No  matter  how  often  she  had  entered  this  apart- 
ment, she  always  felt  a  certain  embarrassment  at 
first,  and  she  usually  said  in  order  to  hide  it:  "Does 
Mr.  Irgens  live  here?" 

But  she  noticed  at  once  that  Irgens  was  not  in  a 
playful  mood  to-day,  and  she  asked  what  was  the 
matter.  When  he  had  told  her  of  the  great  calam- 
ity she,  too,  was  indignant :  " How  unjust!  What  a 
scandal!  Had  Milde  been  selected?" 

"In  payment  for  Paulsberg's  portrait,"  said  Ir- 
gens. "Well,  it  cannot  be  helped;  don't  let  it  irri- 
tate you;  I  am  reconciled." 


166  SHALLOW  SOIL 

"You  take  it  beautifully;  I  don't  see  how  you 
can." 

"The  only  effect  it  has  on  me  is  to  make  me  a 
little  bitter;  it  does  not  break  my  spirit." 

"I  simply  cannot  understand  it;  no,  I  can't. 
Did  you  send  your  book  with  your  application?" 

"Certainly —  Oh,  my  book!  I  might  as  well 
not  have  written  it;  so  far  nobody  seems  to  have 
noticed  it.  There  has  been  no  review  of  it  so  far 
in  any  of  the  papers."  And,  angry  because  of  this 
newspaper  neglect  of  his  work,  he  gritted  his  teeth 
and  walked  up  and  down. 

She  looked  sadly  at  him. 

"Now,  don't  allow  this  to  embitter  you,"  she  said. 
"You  have  great  provocation,  but  all  the  same — 
You  can  live  without  that  miserable  subsidy.  You 
know  that  nobody  is  your  equal!" 

"And  what  good  does  that  do  me?  Judge  for 
yourself;  my  book  has  not  been  mentioned  in  a 
single  newspaper!" 

Mrs.  Hanka  had  for  the  first  time — yes,  for  the 
very  first  time — a  feeling  that  her  hero  was  not  the 
superior  being  she  had  imagined.  A  shuddering 
thought  pierced  her  heart :  he  did  not  carry  his  dis- 
appointment with  more  than  ordinary  pride.  She 
looked  at  him  a  little  closer.  His  eyes  were  not  so 
clear,  his  mouth  was  drawn  and  his  nostrils  dilated. 
But  it  was  only  a  shuddering  thought. 

Then  he  added:  "You  might  do  me  the  favour  to 


RIPENING  167 

try  to  interest  Gregersen  in  my  book,  and  see  if  he 
won't  review  it  in  the  Gazette"  And  as  he  noticed 
that  she  grew  more  and  more  thoughtful,  that  she 
even  looked  interrogatingly  straight  into  his  eyes,  he 
added:  "Of  course,  you  need  not  ask  him  directly 
— only  give  him  a  little  hint,  a  reminder." 

Could  this  be  Irgens?  But  she  remembered  at 
once  his  painful  position,  alone  as  he  was,  fighting 
a  conspiracy  single-handed;  and  she  excused  him. 
She  ought  to  have  thought  of  giving  Gregersen  a 
little  hint  herself  and  spared  her  Poet  this  humilia- 
tion. Yes,  she  certainly  would  speak  to  Gregersen 
at  once. 

And  Irgens  thanked  her;  his  bitterness  vanished 
slowly.  They  sat  silently  on  the  sofa  some  time; 
then  she  said: 

" Listen!  An  awful  thing  happened  with  that  red 
tie  of  yours — you  remember  the  one  I  took  from 
you  once?  He  saw  it!" 

"  How  could  you  be  so  careless?  What  did  he  say?  " 

"Nothing;  he  never  says  anything.  It  fell  out 
as  I  opened  my  dress.  Well,  don't  let  that  worry 
you ;  it  doesn't  matter.  When  can  I  see  you  again?  " 

Ever,  ever  her  tenderness  was  the  same!  Irgens 
took  her  hand  and  caressed  it.  How  fortunate  he 
was  to  have  her!  She  was  the  only  one  in  all  the 
world  who  understood  him,  who  was  good  to  him — 
How  about  that  stay  in  the  country?  Had  she  given 
it  up? 


168  SHALLOW  SOIL 

Yes;  she  was  not  going.  She  told  him  frankly 
that  she  had  had  no  trouble  changing  her  husband's 
mind;  he  had  given  in  at  once.  But  she  was  sorry 
for  the  children. 

"Yes,"  answered  Irgens  sympathetically.  And 
suddenly  he  asked  in  a  whisper: 

"Did  you  lock  the  door  as  you  came  in?" 

She  glanced  at  him,  lowered  her  eyes  and  whis- 
pered: "Yes." 


IV 

ON  the  17th  of  May,*  in  the  morning,  the  birds 
are  singing  over  the  city. 

A  coal-heaver,  tired  from  a  night  of  toil,  wanders 
up  through  the  docks  with  his  shovel  across  his 
shoulder;  he  is  black,  weary,  and  athirst;  he  is 
going  home.  And  as  he  walks  along,  the  city  begins 
to  stir;  a  shade  is  raised  here  and  there;  flags  are 
flung  from  the  windows.  It  is  the  17th  of  May. 

All  stores  and  schools  are  closed;  the  roar  from 
the  wharves  and  factories  is  stilled.  Only  the 
winches  rattle;  they  shatter  the  ah*  with  their  cheer- 
ful noise  this  bright  morning.  Departing  steamers 
blow  white  clouds  of  steam  from  their  exhausts; 
the  docks  are  busy,  the  harbour  is  alive. 

And  letter-carriers  and  telegraph  messengers  have 
already  commenced  their  rounds,  bringing  news, 
scattering  information  through  the  doors,  whirling 
up  in  the  hearts  of  men  emotions  and  feelings  like 
leaves  in  an  autumn  wind. 

A  stray  dog  with  his  nose  on  the  pavement  lopes 
through  the  streets,  hot  on  a  scent  and  without 
a  thought  for  anything  else.  Suddenly  he  stops, 
jumps  up  and  whines;  he  has  found  a  little  girl 

*  Norway's  Independence  Day. 
169 


170  SHALLOW  SOIL 

who  is  leaving  on  every  stoop  newspapers  full  of 
17th-of-May  freedom  and  bold,  ringing  phrases. 
The  little  girl  jerks  her  tiny  body  in  all  directions, 
twitches  her  shoulders,  blinks  and  hurries  from  door 
to  door.  She  is  pale  and  emaciated;  she  has  Saint 
Vitus's  dance. 

The  coal-heaver  continues  his  walk  with  a  heavy, 
long  stride.  He  has  earned  a  good  night's  wage; 
these  enormous  English  coal-steamers  and  the  many 
merchantmen  from  all  over  the  world  are  indeed  a 
blessing  to  such  as  he!  His  shovel  is  shiny  with 
wear;  he  shifts  it  to  his  other  shoulder  and  it  glit- 
ters with  every  step  he  takes,  signals  to  heaven 
with  gleaming  flashes;  it  cuts  the  air  like  a  weapon 
and  shines  like  silver.  The  coal-heaver  runs  foul  of 
a  gentleman  coming  out  of  a  gateway;  the  gentle- 
man smells  of  liquor  and  looks  a  little  shaky;  his 
clothes  are  silk-lined.  As  soon  as  he  has  lit  a  cigar 
he  saunters  down  the  street  and  disappears. 

The  gentleman's  face  is  small  and  round,  like  a 
girl's;  he  is  young  and  promising;  it  is  Ojen,  leader 
and  model  for  all  youthful  poets.  He  has  been  in 
the  mountains  to  regain  his  health,  and  since  his 
return  he  has  had  many  glorious  nights;  his  friends 
have  acclaimed  him  without  ceasing. 

As  he  turns  toward  the  fortress  he  meets  a  man 
he  seems  to  know;  they  both  stop. 

"Pardon  me,  but  haven't  we  met  before?"  asks 
Ojen  politely. 


RIPENING  171 

The  stranger  answers  with  a  smile: 

"Yes,  on  Torahus.  We  spent  an  evening  to- 
gether." 

"Of  course;  your  name  is  Coldevin.  I  thought 
I  knew  you.  How  are  you?" 

"Oh,  so  so—     But  are  you  abroad  so  early?" 

"Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  haven't  been  to  bed 
yet." 

"Oh,  I  see!" 

"The  fact  of  the  matter  is  that  I  have  hardly 
been  in  bed  a  single  night  since  my  return.  I  am 
in  the  hands  of  my  friends.  And  that  means  that 
I  am  in  my  element  once  more —  It  is  strange,  Mr. 
Coldevin,  how  I  need  the  city;  I  love  it!  Look  at 
these  houses,  these  straight,  pure  lines!  I  only  feel 
at  home  here.  The  mountains — Lord  preserve  us! 
And  yet,  I  expected  much  when  I  went  there." 

"How  did  you  get  on?  Did  you  get  rid  of  your 
nervousness?" 

"Did  I?  To  tell  you  the  truth,  my  nervousness 
is  part  of  myself;  it  belongs  to  me,  as  the  Doctor 
says;  there  is  nothing  to  be  done  about  it." 

"So  you  have  been  to  the  mountains  and  sub- 
stantiated the  fact  that  your  nervousness  is  chronic? 
Poor  young  talent,  to  be  afflicted  with  such  a  weak- 
ness!" 

Ojen  looked  at  him  in  amazement.  But  Colde- 
vin smiled  and  continued  to  talk  innocently.  So 
he  did  not  like  the  country?  But  did  he  not  feel 


172  SHALLOW  SOIL 

that  his  talent  had  been  benefited  by  the  mountain 
air? 

"Not  at  all.  I  have  never  noticed  that  my  talent 
stood  in  need  of  bracing." 

"Of  course  not." 

"I  have  written  a  lengthy  prose  poem  while  I 
was  away,  so  you  see  I  have  not  altogether  wasted 
my  time.  Well,  you  will  pardon  me  for  renewing 
our  acquaintance  so  abruptly;  but  I  must  get  home 
and  get  a  little  sleep  now.  Very  pleased  to  have 
met  you  again." 

And  Ojen  walked  off. 

Coldevin  shouted  after  him: 

"But  it  is  the  17th  of  May  to-day!" 

Ojen  turned  and  looked  surprised. 

"Well,  what  of  it?" 

Coldevin  shook  his  head  and  laughed  shortly. 

"Nothing.  Nothing  at  all.  I  only  wanted  to 
see  if  you  remembered  it.  And  I  see  that  you 
remembered  it  perfectly." 

"Yes,"  said  Ojen,  "one  does  not  altogether  for- 
get the  teachings  of  childhood  days." 

Coldevin  stood  there  and  looked  after  him.  He 
was  only  waiting  for  the  processions  to  start.  His 
coat  was  beginning  to  be  rather  shiny;  it  was  care- 
fully brushed,  but  shabby;  in  the  left  lapel  was 
fastened  securely  a  little  silk  bow  in  the  Norwegian 
colours. 

He  shivered,  for  the  air  was  still  chilly;  he  walked 


RIPENING  173 

rapidly  in  order  to  get  down  to  the  harbour  whence 
sounded  the  energetic  rattle  of  anchor  chains.  He 
nodded  and  glanced  at  the  waving  flags,  counted 
them,  and  followed  their  graceful  billowing  against 
the  blue  sky.  Here  and  there  a  few  pale  theatre 
bills  were  posted  on  pillars;  he  went  from  one  to 
another  and  read  great  and  famous  names — master- 
pieces from  earlier  periods.  He  happened  to  think 
of  Irgens's  lyric  drama,  but  he  looked  for  it  in  vain. 
And  he  turned  his  face  toward  the  sea;  the  rattle 
of  chains  reached  his  ears  refreshingly. 

The  ships  were  dressed  in  bunting;  the  entire 
harbour  scintillated  with  these  bright  colours  against 
the  blue.  Coldevin  breathed  deeply  and  stood  still. 
The  odour  of  coal  and  tar,  of  wine  and  fruit,  of 
fish  and  oils;  the  roar  from  engines  and  traffic,  the 
shouts,  the  footfalls  on  the  decks,  the  song  from  a 
young  sailor  who  was  shining  shoes  in  his  shirt- 
sleeves— it  all  stirred  him  with  a  violent  joy  which 
almost  made  his  eyes  moisten.  What  a  power  was 
here!  What  ships!  The  harbour  gleamed;  far  away 
he  saw  Miss  Aagot's  little  yacht  with  the  shining 
masthead. 

He  lost  himself  in  this  spectacle.  Time  passed; 
suddenly  he  dived  into  a  basement  restaurant  that 
had  opened  up  and  asked  for  a  sandwich  for  break- 
fast. When  he  emerged  a  little  later  there  were 
many  people  in  the  streets;  it  was  getting  along 
toward  the  time  for  the  boys'  parade  to  start.  He 


174  SHALLOW  SOIL 

had  to  hurry;  it  would  never  do  to  miss  the  proces- 
sions. 

Along  toward  three  o'clock  a  few  members  of  the 
clique  had  occupied  a  vantage-point  at  the  corner, 
in  order  to  see  the  big  procession  pass  by  toward 
the  Royal  Castle.  None  of  them  marched  in  the 
parade.  Suddenly  one  of  them  called  out: 

"Look,  there  is  Coldevin!" 

They  saw  him  march  now  under  one,  now  under 
another  banner;  it  was  as  if  he  wanted  to  belong 
to  them  all;  he  was  almost  too  enthusiastic  to  keep 
in  step.  Attorney  Grande  crossed  over  and  joined 
the  procession;  he  caught  up  with  Coldevin  and 
started  a  conversation. 

"And  where  is  the  young  Norway?"  asked  Colde- 
vin, "the  poets,  the  artists — why  aren't  they  march- 
ing? They  ought  to;  it  would  not  hurt  their  talent. 
It  might  not  help  it  much,  either;  I  don't  say  that, 
but  I  am  sure  it  would  never  hurt.  The  trouble  is, 
they  don't  care!  They  are  indifferent;  but  it  is 
surely  wrong  to  be  so  indifferent." 

Coldevin  had  grown  still  more  absurd,  although 
he  spoke  with  his  usual  calm  deliberation.  He  was 
obstinate;  he  talked  about  the  suffrage  movement, 
and  even  hinted  that  it  would  be  better  if  women 
should  be  a  little  more  anxious  to  make  their  homes 
attractive.  It  was  wrong,  he  said,  that  women 
should  think  too  little  of  their  home  life  and  prefer 


RIPENING  175 

a  hall-room  in  order  to  become  what  they  called 
"independent."  They  had  to  " study"  until  they, 
too,  could  wear  glasses;  they  went  to  a  business 
school  if  they  could  do  no  better.  And  they  did 
their  things  so  excellently  that  they  were  graduated, 
and  if  they  were  lucky  they  would  finally  secure  a 
position  at  twenty  crowns  a  month.  Fine!  But 
they  had  to  pay  twenty-seven  for  the  hall-room 
and  meals.  Then  they  were  "independent"! 

"But  you  cannot  say  that  it  is  the  fault  of  the 
women  if  their  work  is  paid  so  poorly,"  objected 
the  Attorney,  whose  wife  was  liberal. 

Certainly,  these  arguments  were  familiar;  they 
were  old  and  tried.  They  had  been  answered,  but 
...  In  fact,  they  had  been  riddled  several  thousand 
times.  But  the  worst  of  it  was  that  the  home 
was  simply  destroyed  by  the  corroding  influence  of 
these  ideas.  Coldevin  accentuated  this.  He  had 
noticed  that  a  great  many  people  here  in  the  city 
mainly  lived  in  the  restaurants.  He  had  looked  for 
acquaintances  in  their  homes,  but  in  vain;  however, 
he  met  them  when  he  occasionally  went  to  a  cafe". 
He  did  not  want  to  speak  about  artists  and  au- 
thors; they  simply  did  not  have  nor  did  they  want 
any  other  home  than  the  cafes,  and  he  did  not 
understand  how  they  could  accomplish  anything 
under  these  circumstances.  But  women  nowadays 
were  lacking  in  ambition  and  heart;  they  were  sat- 
isfied with  the  mixed  company  they  found  in  these 


176  SHALLOW  SOIL 

hang-outs.  They  did  not  extend  themselves  in  any 
one  direction;  they  were  not  occupied  with  any  sin- 
gle idea;  they  became  simply  roundheaded.  God, 
how  rarely  one  nowadays  saw  real  race! 

Somebody  in  the  procession  called  for  cheers  and 
was  answered  with  scattering  hurrahs.  Coldevin 
cheered  enthusiastically,  although  he  did  not  hear 
what  the  cheers  were  for.  He  looked  resentfully 
down  the  ranks  and  swung  his  hat,  urging  the 
marchers  to  shout  still  louder. 

" These  people  don't  know  how  to  cheer!"  he 
said.  "They  shout  in  a  whisper;  nobody  can  hear 
them.  Help  me,  Mr.  Attorney,  and  we'll  liven 
them  up!" 

The  Attorney  thought  it  fun  and  shouted  with 
him  until  they  succeeded  in  stirring  up  the  dying 
hurrahs. 

"Once  again!"  shouted  Coldevin. 

And  again  the  cheers  rolled  down  the  ranks. 

The  Attorney  said  smilingly: 

"That  you  should  care  to  do  this!" 

Coldevin  looked  at  him.     He  said  seriously: 

"You  should  not  say  that.  We  should  all  care 
to  do  this;  it  would  not  hurt  us.  Of  course,  this 
parading  has  not  in  itself  great  significance;  but 
there  will  be  opportunities  to  cheer  for  Norway,  for 
the  flag,  and  then  we  ought  to  be  present.  Who 
knows — these  booming  cheers  may  have  their  effect 
on  Parliament;  it  may  be  reminded  of  a  few  things 


RIPENING  177 

it  has  begun  to  forget — a  little  loyalty,  a  little  stead- 
fastness. People  should  not  be  so  unconcerned; 
now  is  the  time  for  the  young  to  step  forward. 
Perhaps,  if  the  youth  of  the  country  had  shown 
up  occasionally  and  met  together  and  hurrahed  at 
times,  Parliament  might  have  settled  a  few  things 
differently  lately.  And,  if  you  had  cared  to  take 
a  walk  along  the  docks  to-day  and  witnessed  the 
nation's  life  throb  so  mightily,  then,  by  Heaven, 
you  would  have  felt  that  the  country  is  worth  our 
cheers— 

The  Attorney  spied  Ojen  on  the  sidewalk;  he  ex- 
cused himself  and  stepped  out  of  the  procession. 
He  looked  back  a  moment  later  and  saw  that  Col- 
devin  had  changed  places  again;  he  was  marching 
under  the  business-men's  banner,  erect,  grey-bearded, 
and  shabby,  with  the  glint  of  the  Norwegian  colours 
on  his  lapel. 


V 

AAGOT  was  dressed  for  the  excursion;  she  pulled 
on  her  gloves  and  was  ready. 

It  had  not  been  at  all  difficult  to  arrange  this 
little  trip;  Ole  had  only  requested  that  she  be  care- 
ful and  dress  warmly;  it  was  only  May. 

And  they  started. 

It  was  calm,  warm,  and  bright;  not  a  cloud  in 
the  skies.  Irgens  had  the  boat  ready;  they  had 
only  to  go  aboard.  He  spoke  intentionally  about 
indifferent  matters;  he  wanted  to  make  her  forget 
that  she  had  originally  agreed  to  this  island  trip 
with  a  whispered  yes,  a  sudden  submission  right 
before  Ole's  very  eyes.  She  was  reassured.  Irgens 
had  not  invested  her  sudden  consent  with  a  deeper 
significance  than  she  had  intended;  he  walked  along 
as  unconcernedly  as  possible  and  talked  about  the 
weather  and  almost  had  to  be  hurried  along.  Just 
as  they  were  on  the  verge  of  starting  she  caught 
a  glimpse  of  Coldevin,  who  stood  on  the  dock  half 
hidden  behind  a  pile  of  boxes.  She  jumped  out  of 
the  boat  and  called: 

"Coldevin!    I  want  to  see  you!" 
178 


RIPENING  179 

It  was  impossible  to  avoid  her;  he  stepped  for- 
ward and  took  off  his  hat. 

She  gave  him  her  hand.  Where  in  the  world  had 
he  kept  himself  all  this  time?  Dear  me,  why  was 
he  never  to  be  seen?  It  began  to  look  a  little  strange 
—really  it  did. 

He  stammered  an  excuse,  spoke  about  library 
work,  a  translation  from  a  book,  an  absolutely 
necessary  bit  of  work.  .  .  . 

But  she  interrupted  and  asked  where  he  lived 
now.  She  had  looked  for  him  at  the  hotel  but 
was  told  that  he  had  left;  nobody  knew  where  he 
had  gone.  She  had  also  had  a  glimpse  of  him  on 
the  seventeenth;  she  was  in  the  Grand  and  saw  him 
march  by  in  the  parade. 

He  repeated  his  excuses  and  trotted  out  the  old 
joke  about  the  impropriety  of  disturbing  sweet- 
hearts too  much.  He  smiled  good-naturedly  as  he 
spoke. 

She  observed  him  carefully.  His  clothes  were 
threadbare,  his  face  had  become  thinner,  and  she 
wondered  suddenly  if  he  were  in  want.  Why  had 
he  left  the  hotel,  and  where  did  he  live?  He  said 
something  about  a  friend,  a  college  chum — honest, 
a  teacher,  a  splendid  fellow. 

Aagot  asked  when  he  was  going  back  to  Torahus, 
but  he  did  not  know  exactly;  he  was  unable  to  say. 
As  long  as  he  had  this  library  work  and  was  so 
busy  .  .  . 


180  SHALLOW  SOIL 

Well,  he  simply  must  promise  to  come  before  he 
went  away;  she  insisted.  And  she  asked  suddenly: 
"When  I  saw  you  on  the  seventeenth,  didn't  you 
have  a  bow  in  your  buttonhole?" 

Certainly,  he  had  a  bow;  one  had  to  show  the 
colours  on  such  a  day!  Didn't  she  remember  that 
she  had  given  it  to  him  herself?  She  had  wanted 
him  to  be  decorated  last  year,  when  he  was  going 
to  speak  to  the  peasants  at  Torahus,  and  she  had 
given  him  the  bow.  Didn't  she  remember? 

Aagot  recalled  it.     She  asked: 

"Was  it  really  the  same  bow?" 

"Yes;  isn't  it  strange?  I  happened  to  come 
across  it;  I  must  have  brought  it  along  with  some 
clothes;  I  found  it  by  accident." 

"Imagine!  I  thought  at  once  it  was  my  bow.  It 
made  me  glad;  I  don't  know  why,"  she  said  and 
bowed  her  head. 

Irgens  shouted  and  asked  her  if  she  were  com- 
ing. 

"No!"  she  called  bluntly  and  without  thinking. 
She  did  not  even  turn  her  head.  But  when  she 
realised  how  she  had  answered  she  grew  confused 
and  cried  to  Irgens:  "Pardon  me  just  a  moment!" 
And  she  turned  to  Coldevin  again:  "I  would  have 
loved  to  stay  and  talk  with  you,  but  I  have  no 
time;  I  am  going  to  the  island."  She  offered  Col- 
devin her  hand  and  said:  "Anyway,  I  hope  every- 
thing will  turn  out  for  the  best;  don't  you  think 


RIPENING  181 

it  will,  too?  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  hurry  off.  So 
long;  be  sure  and  come  up  soon!" 

She  skipped  down  the  steps  and  into  the  boat. 
Again  she  apologised  for  keeping  Irgens  waiting. 

And  Irgens  rowed  out.  They  talked  about  the 
sea,  the  far  journeys,  the  strange  countries;  he  had 
been  abroad  only  hi  his  dreams,  and  he  supposed 
that  would  be  the  extent  of  his  travellings.  He 
looked  sad  and  listless.  Suddenly  he  said: 

"I  hear  you  are  not  going  to  the  country  after 
all." 

"No.    The  Tidemands  have  changed  their  plans." 

"So  I  am  told.  It  is  a  pity;  I  am  sorry  for  your 
sake,  in  a  way."  And,  resting  on  his  oars,  he  added 
bluntly:  "But  I  am  glad  for  my  own  sake;  I  admit 
it  frankly." 

Aagot  skipped  up  the  stone  jetty  when  they 
landed.  The  trees  delighted  her;  it  was  ages  since 
she  had  seen  a  real  forest — such  great  big  trees,  just 
like  home.  She  sniffed  the  pungent,  pine-laden  air, 
she  looked  at  stones  and  flowers  with  a  feeling  of 
recognition;  memories  from  home  surged  through 
her,  and  she  was  for  an  instant  on  the  verge  of  tears. 

"But  here  are  other  people!"  she  exclaimed  sud- 
denly. 

Irgens  laughed:  "What  did  you  expect?  This  is 
not  a  jungle,  exactly." 

They  explored  the  island  thoroughly,  saw  the  chan- 
ging views,  and  had  refreshments.  Aagot  beamed. 


182  SHALLOW  SOIL 

The  walk  in  the  bracing  air  had  flushed  her  cheeks, 
her  lips,  her  ears,  even  her  nose;  her  eyes  were 
sparkling  gaily.  She  suddenly  remembered  that  she 
had  almost  pouted  in  disappointment  when  she  saw 
other  people;  what  must  Irgens  have  thought? 

"I  was  at  first  a  little  surprised  to  find  so  many 
people  here,"  she  said.  "The  reason  was  that  you 
told  me  you  had  written  some  of  your  poems  here, 
and  I  did  not  think  you  could  have  done  that  un- 
less you  had  been  entirely  undisturbed." 

How  she  remembered!  He  gazed  at  her  exult- 
antly and  answered  that  he  had  his  own  restful 
nook  where  nobody  ever  came.  It  was  on  the 
other  side;  should  they  go  over? 

They  went.  It  was  certainly  a  restful  place,  a 
regular  wilderness  of  rocks  and  heather  and  juni- 
pers, enclosed  on  two  sides.  Far  in  the  distance 
could  be  seen  a  little  glade.  They  sat  down. 

"So  this  is  where  you  sit  and  write!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "It  is  strange  to  think  of.  Were  you 
sitting  here?" 

"About  here.  Do  you  know,  it  is  refreshing  to 
meet  such  a  spontaneous  interest  as  yours?" 

"Tell  me,  how  do  you  write  your  things?  Do  the 
thoughts  come  to  you  without  conscious  effort?" 

"Yes,  in  a  way.  Things  affect  one  pleasantly  or 
otherwise,  and  the  mood  is  there.  But  the  trouble 
then  is  to  make  the  words  reflect  the  love  or  hate 
one's  heart  feels  at  the  moment.  Often  it  is  useless 


RIPENING  183 

even  to  try;  one  can  never  find  words  adequately  to 
express  that  languid  gesture  of  your  hand,  to  define 
that  evanescent  thrill  your  laughter  sends  through 
one " 

Slowly  the  sun  sank;  a  tremor  quivered  through 
the  trees,  and  all  was  still. 

" Listen,"  he  said,  "do  you  hear  the  noise  boiling 
away  yonder  in  the  city?" 

He  noted  how  her  dress  tightened  across  her 
knee;  he  followed  the  curving  outline  of  her  figure, 
saw  how  her  bosom  rose  and  sank,  observed  her 
face  with  the  darling  dimple  and  the  somewhat  ir- 
regular nose;  his  blood  stirred  and  he  moved  closer 
to  her.  He  spoke  in  fumbling,  broken  sentences: 

"This  is  now  the  Isle  of  the  Blest,  and  its  name 
is  Evenrest.  The  sun  is  sinking;  we  are  here — 
the  world  far  off;  it  is  exactly  my  dream  of  dreams. 
Tell  me,  does  my  voice  disturb  you?  You  seem 
so  far  away —  Miss  Lynum,  it  is  useless  to  con- 
tinue the  struggle;  I  surrender  to  you.  I  lie  at 
your  feet  and  tell  you  this,  although  I  have  not 
moved 

The  swift  change  in  his  expression,  the  low,  vi- 
brant, fervent  voice,  his  nearness — for  a  moment 
she  was  completely,  stupidly  stunned.  She  looked 
at  him  for  an  instant  without  answering.  Then  her 
cheeks  began  to  flame;  she  started  to  get  up  and  said 
quickly : 

"But  isn't  it  tune  to  go?" 


184  SHALLOW  SOIL 

"No!"  he  exclaimed.  "No,  don't  go!"  He  took 
hold  of  her  dress,  flung  his  arm  around  her,  and 
held  her  back.  She  struggled  with  face  aglow, 
laughing  uncertainly,  making  vain  efforts  to  free 
herself. 

"You  must  be  crazy,"  she*  said  again  and  again; 
"have  you  completely  forgotten  yourself?" 

"Please,  let  me  at  least  tell  you  something!" 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  she  asked  and  sat  still;  she 
turned  her  face  away,  but  she  listened. 

And  he  began  speaking  rapidly  and  incoherently; 
his  heart-beats  trembled  in  his  voice,  which  was  per- 
suasive and  full  of  tenderness.  She  could  see  that 
all  he  wanted  was  to  make  her  understand  how 
unspeakably  he  loved  her;  how  he  had  been  con- 
quered, subdued  as  never  before.  She  must  believe 
him;  it  had  lain  dormant  and  grown  in  his  heart 
since  the  very  first  time  he  met  her.  He  had  fought 
and  struggled  to  keep  his  feelings  within  bounds; 
but  it  was  true — such  a  struggle  was  not  very  effect- 
ive. It  was  too  sweet  to  yield,  and  so  one  yielded. 
One  fought  on  with  a  steadily  slipping  grip.  And 
now  the  end  had  come;  he  could  not  fight  any 
more,  he  was  entirely  disarmed.  ...  "I  believe  my 
breast  will  burst  asunder."  .  .  . 

Still  leaning  away  from  him,  she  had  turned  her 
face  and  was  gazing  at  him  while  he  spoke.  Her 
hands  had  ceased  their  ineffectual  efforts  and  were 
now  resting  on  his,  tightly  clasped  around  her  waist; 


RIPENING  185 

she  saw  the  blood  leap  through  the  veins  along  his 
throat.  She  straightened  up  and  sat  erect;  his 
hands  were  still  around  her,  but  she  did  not  seem 
to  notice  it  now.  She  seized  her  gloves  and  said 
with  quivering  lips: 

"But,  Irgens,  you  should  not  say  such  things  to 
me.  You  know  you  shouldn't.  It  is  sad,  but  I 
cannot  help  it  now." 

"No,  you  are  right;  I  don't  suppose  I  ought  to 
have  said  it,  but—  He  gazed  at  her;  his  lips  were 
trembling  too.  "But,  Miss  Aagot,  what  would  you 
do  if  your  love  made  you  weak  and  powerless;  if 
it  robbed  you  of  your  senses  and  blinded  you  to 
everything  else?  I  mean 

"Yes,  but  say  nothing  more!"  she  interrupted. 
"I  understand  you  in  a  way,  but —  You  know,  I 
cannot  listen  to  this."  She  looked  at  the  arms 
around  her  waist,  and  with  a  sudden  jerk  she  moved 
away  and  got  up. 

She  was  still  so  confused  that  she  remained  stand- 
ing immobile;  she  did  not  even  brush  the  heather 
from  her  dress.  And  when  he  got  up  she  made  no 
effort  to  go,  but  remained  where  she  was. 

"Listen,  I  want  you  to  promise  not  to  tell  this 
to  anybody.  I  am  afraid —  And  you  must  not 
think  of  me  any  more.  I  had  no  idea  that  you 
really  cared;  of  course,  I  thought  that  you  liked 
me  very  much—  I  had  begun  to  think  that;  but  I 
never  thought —  'How  could  he  care  for  me?'  I  al- 


186  SHALLOW  SOIL 

ways  thought.  If  you  want  me  to  I  will  go  back  to 
Torahus  and  stay  there  awhile." 

He  was  deeply  moved;  he  swallowed  hard  and 
his  eyes  grew  moist.  This  delicious  simplicity,  these 
candid  words,  her  very  attitude,  which  was  free 
from  fear  and  entirely  unaffected — his  feelings  flared 
up  in  him  like  a  consuming  flame:  No,  no,  not  to 
Torahus — only  stay!  He  would  control  himself, 
would  show  her  that  he  could  control  himself;  she 
must  not  go  away.  Even  should  he  lose  his  mind 
and  perish  altogether — rather  that,  if  she  would  only 
stay! 

He  continued  talking  while  he  was  brushing  off 
her  dress.  She  must  pardon  him;  he  was  not  like 
everybody  else,  he  was  a  poet;  when  it  came  over 
him  he  must  yield.  But  he  would  give  her  no 
further  cause  for  complaint  if  she  would  only 
stay.  .  .  .  Wouldn't  she  mind  going  away  the  least 
little  bit,  though?  No,  of  course,  he  had  no  false 
illusions. 

Pause.  He  was  waiting  for  her  to  answer,  to  con- 
tradict him;  perhaps  she  would  go  to  Torahus  a 
little  regretfully  after  all?  But  she  remained  silent. 
Did  she,  then,  hold  him  in  so  slight  regard?  Im- 
possible! Still,  the  thought  began  to  worry  him; 
he  felt  aggrieved,  hurt,  almost  slighted.  He  re- 
peated his  question:  Did  all  his  love  for  her  not  call 
forth  the  tiniest  responsive  spark  in  her  heart? 

She  answered  gently  and  sorrowfully: 


RIPENING  187 

"Please  do  not  ask.  What  do  you  think  Ole 
would  say  if  he  heard  you?" 

Ole?  He  had  not  given  him  a  thought.  Did  he 
really  play  the  role  of  competitor  to  Ole  Henriksen? 
It  was  too  ridiculous.  He  could  not  believe  that 
she  meant  what  she  had  said.  Ole  might  be  all 
right  as  far  as  that  went;  he  bought  and  sold,  went 
his  peddler  rounds  through  life,  paid  his  bills  and 
added  dollars  to  his  hoard.  That  was  all.  Did 
money  really  matter  so  much  to  her?  God  knows, 
perhaps  even  this  girlish  little  head  had  its  con- 
cealed nook  where  thoughts  were  figuring  in  crowns 
and  pennies! 

Irgens  was  silent  for  an  instant;  he  felt  the  pangs 
of  jealousy.  Ole  might  be  able  to  hold  her;  he  was 
tall  and  blue-eyed — perhaps  she  even  preferred  him? 

"Ole?"  he  said.  "I  do  not  care  in  the  least  what 
he  would  say.  Ole  does  not  exist  for  me;  it  is  you 
I  love." 

She  seemed  startled  for  the  first  tune;  she  frowned 
a  little  and  began  to  walk  away. 

"This  is  too  contemptible!"  she  said.  "I  wish 
you  hadn't  said  that.  So  it  is  me  you  love?  Well, 
don't  tell  me  any  more  about  it." 

"Miss  Aagot — one  word  only.  Don't  you  care 
the  least  little  bit  for  me?" 

He  had  seized  her  arm;  she  had  to  look  at  him. 
He  was  too  violent;  he  did  not  control  himself  as 
he  had  promised;  he  was  not  very  handsome  now. 


188  SHALLOW  SOIL 

She  answered:  "I  love  Ole;  I  hope  you  under- 
stand that." 

The  sun  sank  deeper.  People  had  left  the  island; 
only  an  occasional  late  straggler  was  still  seen  walk- 
ing along  the  road  toward  the  city.  Irgens  did  not 
ask  questions  any  more;  he  spoke  only  when  neces- 
sary. Aagot  tried  in  vain  to  start  a  conversation;  she 
had  all  she  could  do  to  keep  her  heart  under  control. 

When  they  were  in  the  boat  again  he  said:  " Per- 
haps you  would  have  preferred  to  drive  back  alone? 
I  may  be  able  to  find  a  hackman  for  you,  if  you 
like." 

"Now  don't  be  angry  any  more!"  she  said. 

She  could  hardly  keep  her  eyes  from  brimming 
over;  she  forced  herself  to  think  of  indifferent  mat- 
ters in  order  to  regain  control  over  herself;  she  gazed 
back  toward  the  island,  followed  the  flight  of  a  bird 
that  sailed  gracefully  above  the  water.  She  asked : 

"Is  that  water  over  there?" 

"No,"  he  answered;  "it  is  a  meadow;  the  dew 
makes  it  look  dark." 

"Imagine!  To  me  it  looked  like  water."  But 
as  it  was  impossible  to  talk  further  about  this  green 
meadow  they  were  both  silent. 

He  was  rowing  hard;  they  approached  the  docks. 
He  landed  and  jumped  out  to  help  her  ashore. 
Neither  of  them  had  gloves  on;  her  warm  hand 
rested  in  his,  and  she  took  the  opportunity  of  thank- 
ing him  for  the  trip. 


RIPENING  189 

"I  want  to  ask  you  to  forget  that  I  have  both- 
ered you  with  my  heart  troubles,"  he  said. 

And  he  lifted  his  hat,  without  waiting  for  an  an- 
swer, jumped  into  the  boat,  and  pushed  off. 

She  had  stopped  at  the  head  of  the  steps.  She  saw 
that  he  went  back  into  the  boat,  and  wanted  to  call 
to  him  and  ask  where  he  was  going;  but  she  gave 
it  up.  He  saw  her  fair  form  disappear  across  the 
jetty. 

He  had  in  reality  not  intended  to  do  this;  he 
acted  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  embarrassed  as 
he  was,  hardly  knowing  what  he  was  doing.  He 
seized  the  oars  and  rowed  out  again,  toward  the 
island.  The  evening  was  wondrously  calm.  Now, 
when  he  was  alone,  he  realised  how  deep  was  his 
despair;  another  disappointment,  another  fall,  the 
very  worst!  And  not  a  star  in  the  murky  night! 
He  suddenly  remembered  Hanka,  who  probably  had 
looked  for  him  to-day;  who  perhaps  was  seeking 
him  even  now.  No;  Hanka  was  not  fair;  Hanka 
was  dark;  she  did  not  radiate,  but  she  allured.  But 
how  was  it — didn't  she  walk  a  little  peculiarly?  No, 
Hanka  did  not  have  Aagot's  carriage.  And  why 
was  it  her  laugh  no  longer  made  his  blood  tingle? 

He  rested  on  the  oars  and  let  the  boat  drift.  It 
grew  darker.  Fragmentary  thoughts  drifted  through 
his  brain:  a  rudderless  ship  on  the  buffeting  waves, 
an  emperor  in  defeat,  King  Lear,  thoughts  and 
thoughts.  He  went  aft  and  began  to  write  on  the 


190  SHALLOW  SOIL 

back  of  some  envelopes,  verse  upon  verse.  Thank 
God,  nothing  could  rob  him  of  his  talent!  And  this 
thought  sent  a  thrill  of  warm  happiness  coursing 
through  his  veins. 


VI 

TIDEMAND  was  still  optimistic;  his  ice  business  in 
England  was  very  profitable.  He  did  not  place  much 
faith  in  the  reports  that  extensive  rains  through- 
out Russia  had  greatly  unproved  the  prospects  for 
a  normal  harvest.  It  had  rained,  of  course,  but  the 
fact  remained  that  Russia  was  still  closed;  not  a 
sack  of  grain  could  be  smuggled  out  if  one  were  to 
offer  for  it  its  weight  in  gold.  Tidemand  stuck  to 
his  price;  occasionally  he  would  sell  small  quanti- 
ties throughout  the  country,  but  his  enormous  stores 
were  hardly  affected  by  this;  he  needed  a  panic,  a 
famine,  before  he  could  unload.  But  there  was  no 
hurry;  only  wait  until  whiter! 

As  usual,  Tidemand  was  eagerly  sought  by  busi- 
ness solicitors  of  every  description;  subscription 
lists  and  all  kinds  of  propositions  were  placed  before 
him;  his  name  was  in  demand  everywhere.  Nothing 
could  be  started  without  the  support  of  the  business 
element ;  and  it  was  especially  the  younger  business 
men,  the  energetic  and  self-made  men  who  conducted 
the  large  enterprises,  who  commanded  money  and 
credit  and  knew  and  recognised  opportunities,  whose 

191 


192  SHALLOW  SOIL 

interest  had  to  be  enlisted.  There  was  the  electric 
street-car  proposition,  the  new  theatre,  the  proposed 
pulp-mills  in  Vardal,  the  whale-oil  factories  in  Hen- 
ningsvaer — everything  had  to  have  the  business 
men's  stamp  of  approval.  Both  Tidemand  and  Ole 
Henriksen  became  share-owners  in  everything  as  a 
matter  of  course. 

"My  father  should  have  known  this!"  Tidemand 
would  often  say  when  he  gave  his  signature.  His 
father  had  a  reputation  for  miserly  thrift  which 
had  survived  him;  he  was  one  of  the  old-fashioned 
tradesmen,  who  went  around  in  his  shirt-sleeves  and 
apron,  and  weighed  out  soap  and  flour  by  the  pound. 
He  had  no  time  to  dress  decently;  his  shoes  were  still 
a  byword;  the  toes  were  sticking  out,  and  when  he 
walked  it  looked  as  if  his  toes  were  searching  for 
pennies  on  the  flagstones.  The  son  did  not  re- 
semble the  father  much;  for  him  the  old  horizons 
had  been  broken,  cracked  wide,  and  opened  large 
views;  his  optimistic  business  courage  was  recog- 
nised. 

Ole  Henriksen  had  just  dropped  in  on  him  in  his 
office  and  was  talking  about  the  projected  tannery 
for  which  an  ideal  site  had  been  found  near  Tora- 
hus.  This  enterprise  was  bound  to  amount  to  some- 
thing in  the  near  future;  the  great  forests  were  being 
cut  rapidly;  the  lumber  was  sold  here  and  abroad. 
But  two  and  three  inch  cuttings  and  the  tops  were 
left  and  went  to  waste.  What  a  lack  of  foresight! 


RIPENING  193 

Pine  bark  contained  nearly  twenty  per  cent  tannin; 
why  not  utilise  it  and  make  money  out  of  it? 

"We  will  see  what  can  be  done  next  spring." 

Ole  Henriksen  looked  a  little  overworked.  He  had 
not  sufficient  help;  when  he  went  to  England  that 
autumn  he  would  have  to  give  his  head  assistant 
power  of  attorney  and  leave  everything  to  him. 
Since  Aagot  came  Ole's  work  had  been  only  fun; 
but  now  she  was  a  little  indisposed  and  had  kept 
up-stairs  for  a  couple  of  days.  Ole  missed  her.  She 
must  have  been  careless  on  this  excursion  day  be- 
fore yesterday  and  have  caught  a  cold.  He  had 
wanted  to  take  her  out  in  the  little  yacht,  but  this 
had  now  been  postponed  until  Sunday.  He  asked 
Tidemand  to  come  along;  there  would  be  a  few  more; 
they  would  sail  out  to  some  reef  and  have  coffee. 

"Are  you  sure  Miss  Aagot  will  be  well  by  Sun- 
day? "  asked  Tidemand.  ' '  These  boat-rides  are  dan- 
gerous so  early  in  the  year.  What  I  was  going  to 
say  was:  Won't  you  please  ask  Hanka  yourself?  I 
am  not  sure  I  can  make  her  come —  In  regard  to 
this  tannery  proposition,  I  think  I  shall  have  to  hold 
the  matter  in  abeyance  for  the  present.  It  will  also 
depend  on  the  lumber  quotations  to  some  extent." 

Ole  returned  after  he  had  looked  up  Hanka  and 
invited  her.  He  wondered  a  little  over  Tidemand's 
remark  about  boat-rides  being  dangerous;  Tidemand 
had  given  the  remark  a  subtle  meaning,  and  Ole  had 
looked  at  him  interrogatingly. 


194  SHALLOW  SOIL 

Ole  found  Aagot  in  her  own  room;  she  was  read- 
ing. When  he  entered  she  threw  down  her  book 
and  ran  to  him.  She  was  well  again,  entirely  well 
— just  feel  the  pulse,  not  a  trace  of  fever!  How 
she  looked  forward  to  Sunday!  Ole  warned  her 
again  about  being  careful;  she  would  have  to  dress 
properly.  Even  Tidemand  had  spoken  about  these 
risky  boat-rides  so  early  in  the  season. 

"And  you  are  going  to  be  the  hostess!"  he  chaffed 
her.  "What  a  darling  little  mistress!  By  the  way, 
what  are  you  reading?" 

"Oh,  that  is  only  Irgens's  poems,"  she  answered. 

"Don't  say  'only'  Irgens's  poems,"  he  chided 
her  playfully.  "By  the  way,  I  ran  across  Coldevin 
a  moment  ago;  he  said  he  was  looking  for  some- 
body. I  couldn't  get  him  to  come  up — he  simply 
wouldn't." 

"Did  you  invite  him  to  our  excursion?"  asked 
Aagot  quickly.  She  seemed  very  much  disappointed 
because  Ole  had  forgotten  to  ask  him.  He  had  to 
promise  her  to  try  his  best  to  find  Coldevin  before 
Sunday. 

Tidemand  rang  Henriksen's  bell  late  Saturday 
evening  and  asked  for  Ole.  He  did  not  want  to 
come  in;  it  was  only  a  small  matter,  he  would  keep 
Ole  only  a  minute. 

When  Ole  came  out  he  saw  at  once  that  some- 
thing serious  had  happened.  He  asked  whether 


RIPENING  195 

they  should  go  down  to  the  office  or  take  a  walk; 
Tidemand  did  not  care  which.  They  went  down- 
stairs to  the  office. 

Tidemand  took  out  a  telegram  and  said: 

"I  fancy  my  rye  speculation  isn't  going  to  turn 
out  very  well.  The  prices  are  normal  at  present; 
Russia  has  lifted  the  ban." 

It  was  true  that  Russia  had  recalled  her  decree 
against  rye  exportations.  The  favourable  prospects 
had  not  proved  disappointing,  and  this,  in  connec- 
tion with  large  amounts  of  grain  stored  in  the  ele- 
vators from  previous  years,  had  made  further  re- 
strictions superfluous.  The  famine  ghost  had  been 
laid;  Russian  and  Finnish  harbours  were  once  more 
open.  Such  was  the  purport  of  the  telegraphic  mes- 
sage. 

Ole  sat  there  silent.  This  was  an  awful  blow! 
His  brain  was  awhirl  with  thoughts:  could  the  tele- 
gram be  a  hoax,  a  piece  of  speculative  trickery,  a 
bribed  betrayal?  He  glanced  at  the  signature;  no, 
it  was  out  of  the  question  to  suspect  this  reliable 
agent.  But  had  anything  like  that  ever  happened 
before?  A  world-power  had  fooled  itself  and  taken 
self-destructive  measures  for  no  apparent  reason! 
It  was  even  worse  than  in  fifty-nine  when  a  similar 
edict  had  been  lifted  and  had  caused  the  world- 
markets  wreck  and  ruin.  But  there  had  been  war 
then. 

The  clock  on  the  wall  ticked  and  ticked  in  the 
unbroken  silence. 


196  SHALLOW  SOIL 

Finally  Ole  asked:  "Are  you  sure  the  wire  is  au- 
thentic?" 

"It  is  authentic  enough,  I  fancy,"  said  Tidemand. 
"My  agent  wired  me  twice  yesterday  to  sell,  and  I 
sold  what  I  could,  sold  even  below  the  day's  quo- 
tations; but  what  did  that  amount  to?  I  lost 
heavily  yesterday,  I  tell  you." 

"Well,  don't  do  anything  hastily  now;  let  us  con- 
sider this  carefully.  But  why  did  you  not  come  to 
me  yesterday?  I  had  a  right  to  expect  that  from 
you." 

"I  ought  hardly  to  have  brought  you  such  a  piece 
of  news  this  evening,  even,  but 

"Once  and  for  all,"  Ole  interrupted  him,  "under- 
stand that  I  will  help  you  all  I  possibly  can.  With 
everything  I  have,  you  understand.  And  that  is  not 
so  very  little,  either." 

Pause. 

"I  thank  you,  Ole — for  everything.  I  knew  I 
shouldn't  go  to  you  in  vain.  You  could  help  me  a 
good  deal  if  you  would  take  over  some  of  my  obli- 
gations— I  mean  those  that  are  non-speculative,  of 
course." 

"Nonsense — anybody  will  take  such  things!  I 
am  taking  rye.  We  will  date  the  papers  day  be- 
fore yesterday — for  the  sake  of  the  old  man." 

Tidemand  shook  his  head. 

"I  am  not  going  to  pull  you  under,  too." 

Ole  looked  at  him;  the  veins  in  his  temples  were 
swelling. 


RIPENING  197 

"You  are  a  damn  fool!"  he  exclaimed  angrily. 
'  'Do  you  for  a  moment  think  you  can  so  easily  pull 
me  under?"  And  Ole  swore,  with  blazing  eyes, 
right  into  Tidemand's  face:  "By  God,  I'll  show 
you  how  easily  you  can  pull  me  under!" 

But  Tidemand  was  immovable;  not  even  Ole's 
anger  made  him  yield.  He  understood  Ole;  his 
means  were  perhaps  not  so  insignificant,  but  it  was 
no  use  making  out  that  he  could  do  everything. 
Ole  boasted  only  because  he  wanted  to  help  him, 
that  was  all.  But  from  to-morrow  on  the  bottom 
would  simply  drop  out  of  the  market;  it  wasn't 
right  to  sell  rye  even  to  one's  enemies  at  yester- 
day's prices. 

"But  what  are  you  going  to  do?  Are  you  going 
into  a  receiver's  hands?"  asked  Ole  in  a  temper. 

"No,"  answered  Tidemand,  "I  think  I  can  skin 
through  without  that.  The  ice  in  England  and 
Australia  is  quite  a  help  now;  not  much,  but  crowns 
are  money  to  me  now.  I  shall  have  to  retrench,  to 
sell  what  I  can  in  order  to  raise  cash.  I  thought 
that  perhaps  you  would  care  to  buy — you  might 
use  it  when  you  are  going  to  marry,  you  know,  and 
we  don't  need  it  at  all;  we  are  never  there  any 
more— 

"What  are  you  talking  about?" 

"Well,  I  thought  that  you  might  want  to  buy 
my  country  estate  now —  You  are  going  to  be  mar- 
ried soon,  so " 


198  SHALLOW  SOIL 

"Your  country  house?    Are  you  going  to  sell  it?" 

" What  good  is  it  to  us?" 

Pause.  Ole  noticed  that  Tidemand's  composure 
began  to  fail  him. 

"All  right.  I'll  take  it.  And  whenever  you  want 
it  back  it  will  be  for  sale.  I  have  a  premonition  that 
it  will  not  be  mine  so  very  long." 

"Well,  God  only  knows.  Anyway,  I  am  doing 
what  I  can  and  should.  I  am  glad  the  place  will 
be  yours.  It  is  beautiful;  it  is  not  my  fault  we 
have  not  been  there  this  summer.  Well,  this  will 
help  some;  as  for  the  rest,  we'll  see.  I  trust  I  can 
manage  without  closing  up;  that  would  be  hard  in- 
deed. And  worst  for  the  sake  of  the  children!" 

Again  Ole  offered  his  assistance. 

"I  appreciate  your  help,  and  I  will  avail  myself 
of  it  within  reasonable  limits.  But  a  loss  is  a  loss, 
and  even  if  I  weather  the  storm  without  going  into 
bankruptcy  I  shall  be  a  poor  man  all  the  same.  I 
don't  know  whether  I  own  a  penny  now  or  not— 
I  am  only  glad  that  you  didn't  join  me  in  that  un- 
happy speculation,  Ole;  that  is  a  blessing,  anyway. 
Well,  we'll  see." 

Ole  asked: 

"Does  your  wife  know  about  this?" 

"No;   I'll  tell  her  after  the  trip  to-morrow." 

"The  trip?    I'll  cancel  that,  of  course." 

"No,"  said  Tidemand,  "I  will  ask  you  not  to  do 
that.  Hanka  is  looking  forward  to  it;  she  has 


RIPENING  199 

spoken  of  it  a  good  deal.  No,  I  would  rather  ask 
you  to  act  as  if  nothing  has  happened;  be  as  cheer- 
ful as  you  can.  I  really  would  appreciate  it.  Don't 
mention  my  misfortune  at  all,  please." 

And  Tidemand  put  the  fatal  wire  back  in  his 
pocket. 

"I  am  sorry  I  had  to  come  and  bother  you  with 
this.  But  I  go  home  with  a  lighter  heart,  now  I 
know  you  will  take  the  country  house." 


SIXTYFOLD 


SIXTYFOLD 


A  PARTY  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  had  gathered 
on  the  jetty  on  the  day  of  the  excursion.  They 
were  waiting  for  the  Paulsbergs,  who  were  late.  Ir- 
gens  was  growing  impatient  and  sarcastic:  Would 
it  not  be  better  to  send  the  yacht  up  for  them? 
When  finally  Paulsberg  and  his  wife  arrived,  they 
all  went  aboard  and  were  soon  tacking  out  the 
fiord. 

Tidemand  held  the  tiller.  A  couple  of  warehouse- 
men from  Henriksen's  wharf  were  along  as  crew. 
Ole  had  arranged  the  trip  carefully  and  had  brought 
along  a  choice  supply  of  provisions;  he  had  even 
remembered  roasted  coffee  for  Irgens.  But  he  had 
failed  to  find  Coldevin,  and  he  had  purposely  avoided 
asking  Gregersen;  the  Journalist  might  have  heard 
the  news  from  Russia,  and  might  inadvertently  have 
betrayed  the  fatal  tidings. 

Tidemand  looked  as  if  he  had  spent  a  sleepless 
night.  To  Ole's  whispered  inquiry,  he  answered 
smilingly  that  things  might  be  worse.  But  he  asked 
to  be  allowed  to  keep  his  place  at  the  tiller. 

203 


204  SHALLOW  SOIL 

And  the  yacht  tacked  out  toward  the  reefs. 

Mrs.  Hanka  had  chosen  a  place  far  forward;  her 
face  was  fresh,  and  she  had  thrown  her  fur  coat 
around  her  shoulders;  Milde  said  she  looked  pictur- 
esque. He  added  loudly  and  gaily: 

"And  furthermore  I  wish  it  were  drink  time!" 

Ole  brought  out  bottles  and  glasses.  He  went 
around  and  wrapped  the  ladies  in  shawls  and  blan- 
kets. Nothing  to  laugh  about;  true,  the  day  was 
bright  and  warm,  but  the  sea  air  was  treacherous. 
He  repeatedly  offered  to  relieve  Tidemand  at  the 
tiller,  but  was  not  permitted  to.  No,  this  was  the 
place  for  Tidemand;  here  he  would  not  have  to  be 
entertaining,  and  he  was  not  in  a  mood  for  social 
amenities. 

"Don't  lose  your  nerve  whatever  happens!  Have 
you  heard  anything  further?" 

"Only  a  confirmation.  We  shall  get  it  officially 
to-morrow,  I  guess.  But  don't  worry;  I  have  laid 
my  lines  now  and  shall  manage  to  pull  through  some- 
how. I  imagine  I  shall  save  the  ship." 

Forward  the  spirits  of  the  company  rose  rapidly. 
Ojen  began  to  get  a  little  seasick,  and  drank  stead- 
ily in  order  to  subdue  his  qualms. 

"It  seems  good  to  see  you  again,"  said  Mrs. 
Hanka,  prompted  by  a  desire  to  enliven  him. 
"You  still  have  your  delicate  face,  but  it  is  not 
quite  as  pale  as  before  you  went  away." 

"But  what  is  the  matter  with  your  eyes?"  cried 


SIXTYFOLD  205 

Mrs.  Paulsberg   mercilessly.    "I  have   never  seen 
him  as  pallid  as  at  this  very  moment." 

This  reference  to  his  seasickness  caused  general 
merriment.  Mrs.  Hanka  continued  to  speak:  She 
had  heard  his  latest  poem,  that  exquisite  gem, 
' '  Memories. ' '  His  excursion  had  certainly  been  fruit- 
ful in  results. 

"You  haven't  heard  my  very  latest  poem,  though," 
said  0 jen  in  a  weak  voice;  "it  has  an  Egyptian  sub- 
ject; the  action  takes  place  in  an  ancient  tomb— 
And,  sick  and  miserable  as  he  was,  he  looked 
through  all  his  pockets  for  this  poem.  What  could 
have  become  of  it?  He  had  taken  it  out  that  morn- 
ing with  the  intention  of  bringing  it  along;  he  had 
thought  that  perhaps  somebody  would  care  to 
listen  to  it.  He  was  not  afraid  of  saying  that  it 
really  was  a  little  out  of  the  ordinary.  He  sincerely 
hoped  he  hadn't  lost  it;  in  that  case  the  trip 
would  have  proved  most  unfortunate  for  him. 
Never  had  he  produced  anything  so  remarkable; 
it  was  only  a  couple  of  pages,  but  .  .  . 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Hanka,  "you  must  surely  have 
left  it  behind."  And  she  did  her  best  to  make 
the  poor  poet  forget  his  groundless  fears.  She 
had  been  told  that  he  preferred  the  city  to  the 
country? 

He  did,  most  assuredly.  No  sooner  had  his  eyes 
beheld  the  straight  lines  of  streets  and  houses  than 
his  brain  was  aquiver,  and  he  had  conceived  that 


206  SHALLOW  SOIL 

Egyptian  prose  poem.  If  that  had  been  lost, 
now  .  .  . 

Milde  had  lately  begun  to  appreciate  Ojen;  at 
last  his  eyes  had  been  opened  to  his  poetry's  delicate 
uniqueness.  Irgens,  who  sat  close  enough  to  hear 
this  unusual  praise,  leaned  over  to  Mrs.  Hanka  and 
said  in  a  low  voice : 

"You  understand?  Milde  knows  he  has  nothing 
to  fear  from  his  competitor  any  more — hence  his 
change  of  attitude."  And  Irgens  pressed  his  lips 
together  and  smiled  venomously. 

Mrs.  Hanka  glanced  at  him.  How  he  persisted 
in  his  bitterness;  how  unbecoming  it  was  in  him! 
He  did  not  realise  it,  or  he  would  not  have  thus 
compressed  his  lips  and  continually  shot  baleful 
glances  at  his  fellow  applicants.  Otherwise  Irgens 
was  silent;  he  ignored  Aagot  entirely.  She  thought: 
What  have  I  done  to  him?  Could  I  possibly  have 
acted  in  any  other  way? 

The  coffee  was  made  on  board,  but  out  of  regard 
for  Ojen,  who  still  felt  badly,  it  was  decided  to  drink 
it  on  the  very  first  reef  they  should  reach.  They 
camped  on  the  rocks,  flung  themselves  on  the  ground, 
and  threw  dignity  to  the  winds.  It  was  great  fun; 
Ojen  looked  with  big,  astonished  eyes  at  everything 
— the  sea,  the  waves  which  filled  the  air  with  a  con- 
tinuous roar,  the  barren  reef  where  not  a  tree  grew 
and  where  the  grass  was  yellow  from  sun  and  spray. 
Aagot  skipped  round  with  cups  and  glasses;  she 


SIXTYFOLD  207 

walked  in  a  constant  fear  of  dropping  anything  and 
stuck  the  tip  of  her  tongue  out  like  a  rope-walker. 

Milde  proposed  that  they  drink  her  health. 
"Haven't  you  got  champagne,  Ole?"  he  asked. 

The  champagne  was  produced,  the  glasses  filled, 
and  the  toast  drunk  amid  cheers.  Milde  was  in 
high  spirits;  he  proposed  that  they  throw  the  bot- 
tle in  the  sea  with  a  note  enclosed  which  they  all 
were  to  sign. 

They  all  put  their  names  down  except  Paulsberg, 
who  curtly  refused.  A  man  who  wrote  as  much  as 
he  did  could  not  sign  his  name  to  nonsensical  notes, 
he  said.  And  he  rose  and  walked  away  hi  dignified 
aloofness. 

"Then  I'll  sign  for  him,"  said  Milde,  and  seized  a 
pencil. 

But  Mrs.  Paulsberg  cried  indignantly: 

"You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind!  Paulsberg  has 
said  that  he  does  not  want  his  name  on  the  note, 
and  that  ought  to  be  sufficient  for  all  of  us."  She 
looked  quite  offended  as  she  crossed  her  legs  and 
held  her  cup  in  her  usual  masculine  fashion. 

Milde  apologised  instantly;  his  proposition  was 
meant  as  a  harmless  joke;  however,  after  consider- 
ing the  matter  he  admitted  that  perhaps  it  was  a 
little  foolish  and  that  it  would  not  do  for  Paulsberg 
to  have  anything  to  do  with  it.  Perhaps  they  had 
better  drop  the  whole  thing;  what  did  they  think? 
If  Paulsberg  wasn't  going  to  be  in  it,  then  .  .  . 


208  SHALLOW  SOIL 

Irgens  could  not  control  himself  any  longer;  he 
sneered  openly  and  almost  hissed: 

"Mr.  Subsidist!    You  are  divine!" 

That  subsidy  was  never  out  of  his  thoughts. 

"And  as  for  you,"  answered  Milde  scathingly, 
glaring  at  him  with  angry  eyes,  "it  is  getting  so 
that  it  is  impossible  to  be  near  you." 

Irgens  feigned  surprise. 

"What  is  that?  It  would  appear  from  your  tone 
that  I  have  offended  you. " 

Mrs.  Hanka  had  to  intervene.  Couldn't  they  stop 
quarrelling  even  on  a  pleasure  trip?  They  ought 
to  be  ducked  if  they  couldn't  behave! 

And  Irgens  was  silent  at  once;  he  did  not  even 
mumble  maliciously  between  his  teeth.  Mrs.  Hanka 
grew  thoughtful.  How  her  poet  and  hero  had 
changed  in  a  few  brief  weeks!  What  had  really  hap- 
pened? How  dull  and  lustreless  his  dark  eyes  had 
become!  Even  his  moustache  seemed  to  be  droop- 
ing; he  had  lost  his  fresh  immaculateness;  he  was  not 
nearly  as  alluring  as  before.  But  then  she  reminded 
herself  of  his  disappointments,  of  that  miserable  sub- 
sidy, and  of  his  book,  his  beautiful  lyric  creation 
which  they  were  conspiring  to  kill  by  their  studied 
silence.  She  leaned  toward  Aagot  and  said: 

"It  is  sad  to  observe  how  bitter  Irgens  has  grown; 
have  you  noticed  it?  I  hope  he  will  get  over  it 
soon."  And  Mrs.  Hanka,  who  wanted  to  save  him 
from  making  too  unfavourable  an  impression,  added 


SIXTYFOLD  209 

in  the  goodness  of  her  heart  what  she  had  heard 
Irgens  himself  say  so  often:  It  was  not  so  strange, 
after  all;  bitterness  of  that  character  could  only 
arouse  respect.  Here  he  had  toiled  and  worked  for 
years,  had  given  freely  of  his  treasures,  and  the 
country,  the  government,  had  refused  to  offer  him  a 
helping  hand. 

''Can  you  understand  it?"  said  Aagot  also.  And 
she  realised  instantly  that  she  had  not  treated  this 
man  with  the  consideration  due  him;  she  had  been 
tactless;  she  had  rebuffed  him  with  unnecessary 
harshness.  She  wished  her  conduct  had  been  differ- 
ent; however,  it  was  too  late  now. 

Paulsberg  returned  from  his  solitary  walk  and 
suggested  that  it  was  time  to  think  of  the  return. 
The  clouds  held  a  menace  of  rain,  he  said;  the  sun 
was  sinking  and  it  was  blowing  up  a  little. 

Aagot  went  around  again  and  poured  coffee.  She 
bent  over  Irgens,  bent  deeper  than  necessary,  and 
said: 

"May  I  pour  you  some,  Mr.  Irgens?" 

The  almost  supplicating  note  hi  her  voice  made 
him  glance  at  her  in  surprise.  He  did  not  want 
any  coffee,  thanks;  but  he  smiled  at  her.  She  was 
happy  at  once;  she  hardly  knew  what  she  was  car- 
rying, but  she  stammered: 

"Just  a  little,  please." 

He  looked  at  her  again  and  said:  "  No,  thanks." 

On  the  return  trip  Irgens  seemed  a  different  per- 


210  SHALLOW  SOIL 

soil.  He  chatted,  entertained  the  ladies,  helped 
even  poor  Ojen,  who  suffered  greatly.  Milde  had 
captured  a  bottle  on  the  pretext  that  it  was  drink 
time  again,  and  Irgens  drank  with  him  simply  to 
be  accommodating.  Mrs.  Hanka's  spirits  also  rose; 
she  was  lively  and  cheerful,  and  a  strange  associa- 
tion of  ideas  made  her  suddenly  decide  to  ask  her 
husband  for  a  couple  of  hundred  crowns  this  very 
evening. 

Tidemand  was  at  the  tiller  and  could  not  be  dis- 
lodged; he  sailed  the  boat  and  did  not  utter  a  syl- 
lable. He  looked  well  as  he  stood  high  in  the  stern, 
rising  and  falling  against  the  blue  background  of  sea 
and  sky.  His  wife  called  to  him  once  and  asked 
him  if  he  were  cold,  an  attention  he  could  hardly 
believe  and  therefore  pretended  not  to  hear. 

"He  is  deaf,"  she  said  smilingly.  "Are  you  cold, 
Andreas?" 

"Cold?    Not  at  all,"  he  called  back. 

And  by  and  by  the  party  reached  the  jetty. 

Hardly  had  Ojen  stepped  ashore  before  he  called 
a  cab.  He  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  home  and  find  his 
manuscript  or  learn  the  worst.  He  could  not  rest 
until  he  knew  his  fate.  But  perhaps  he  would 
meet  the  company  later  on.  Would  they  be  at 
Sara's? 

They  looked  at  each  other  uncertainly  and  did 
not  know  what  to  say.  But  Ole  Henriksen  declared 
that  he  was  going  home;  he  was  thinking  of  Tide- 


SIXTYFOLD  211 

mand,  who  was  in  need  of  rest  and  quiet.  They 
parted  outside  Tidemand's  house. 

Mrs.  Hanka  asked  abruptly,  before  even  the  door 
was  opened: 

"Will  you  please  let  me  have  a  hundred  or  so?" 

"A  hundred?  Hm.  Certainly.  But  you  will 
have  to  come  with  me  to  the  office;  I  haven't  got 
the  money  here." 

In  the  office  he  handed  her  the  bill;  his  hand  was 
trembling  violently. 

"Here  is  the  money,"  he  said. 

"Thanks —    Why  are  you  trembling?"  she  asked. 

"Oh — I  suppose  because  I  have  held  the  tiller  so 
long —  Hm.  Listen,  Hanka,  I  have  a  pleasant  sur- 
prise for  you!  You  have  asked  me  a  number  of 
tunes  to  consent  to  a  divorce;  I  have  decided  in 
God's  name  to  do  what  you  ask —  You  understand, 
I  am  not  going  to  oppose  you  any  more." 

She  could  hardly  believe  her  ears.  Did  he  agree 
to  a  divorce?  She  gazed  at  him;  he  was  deathly 
pale,  his  eyes  were  lowered.  They  were  standing 
opposite  each  other,  the  large  desk  between  them. 

He  continued: 

"Circumstances  are  different  now —  My  big 
speculation  has  failed;  even  if  I  am  not  a  bank- 
rupt this  moment,  I  am  a  poor  man.  I  may  avoid 
closing  up  shop,  but  that  will  be  all.  Anyway,  I 
shall  not  be  able  to  keep  up  this  mode  of  life.  And, 
this  being  so,  I  feel  that  I  have  no  right  to  interfere 
with  your  plans  and  desires  any  longer." 


212  SHALLOW  SOIL 

His  words  reached  her  as  from  afar.  For  a 
moment  she  felt, a  vague  sensation  of  happiness — she 
was  free;  she  would  escape  the  yoke  that  had  become 
oppressive;  she  would  be  a  girl  once  more!  Hanka 
Lange — imagine,  only  Hanka  Lange!  And  when 
she  realised  that  her  husband  was  almost  a  bank- 
rupt it  did  not  greatly  upset  her;  he  had  said  he 
might  not  be  forced  to  shut  down.  Of  course,  he  was 
not  wealthy,  but  neither  was  he  a  beggar;  it  might 
have  been  a  great  deal  worse. 

"Is  that  so?"  she  said  simply;  "is  that  so?" 

Pause.  Tidemand  had  regained  his  composure; 
he  stood  again  as  he  had  stood  aboard  the  yacht; 
one  could  almost  see  the  tiller  in  his  hand.  His 
eyes  were  on  her.  She  had  not  said  no;  her  in- 
tentions were  evidently  not  shaken.  Well,  he  had 
hardly  expected  that  they  would  be. 

He  said: 

"Well,  that  was  all  I  wanted  to  tell  you." 

His  voice  was  remarkably  even,  almost  command- 
ing; she  thought:  "He  has  not  spoken  to  me  like 
that  in  three  years."  His  strength  was  marvellous 
to  behold. 

"Well,  do  you  really  want  to?"  she  asked.  "You 
think,  then,  that  we  ought  to  separate?  Of  course, 
but—  I  hope  you  have  thought  it  over — that  you 
are  not  doing  this  simply  to  please  me?" 

"It  goes  without  saying  that  I  do  it  to  please 
you,"  he  answered.  "You  have  requested  it  often 
enough,  and  I  sincerely  regret  that  I  have  opposed 


SIXTYFOLD  213 

you  until  now."  And  he  added  without  a  trace  of 
malice:  "You  must  forgive  me  for  having  inter- 
fered with  your  wishes  so  long." 

She  grew  attentive  at  once. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said  a  trifle 
haughtily. 

He  did  not  care  about  that  and  did  not  answer. 
Hadn't  she  spoken  about  a  divorce  time  and  time 
again?  Hadn't  he  put  her  off?  Perfectly  composed, 
he  opened  his  coat  and  took  out  his  pocket  calen- 
dar, in  which  he  proceeded  to  make  an  entry. 

She  could  not  help  being  impressed  by  this  quiet 
superiority,  which  she  never  before  had  noticed  in 
him;  she  happened  to  say: 

"I  think  you  have  changed  greatly." 

"Oh,  well,  one  gets  a  little  grey,  but 

"No,  you  misunderstand  me!"  she  interrupted. 

Tidemand  said  slowly  and  looked  straight  into 
her  eyes: 

"I  wish  to  God  you  had  understood  me  as  well 
as  I  have  you,  Hanka!  Perhaps,  then,  this  would 
not  have  become  necessary."  He  buttoned  his  coat 
as  if  preparing  to  leave,  and  added:  "Now,  in  re- 
gard to  the  money— 

"Yes,  dear,  here  is  the  money!"  she  said,  and 
wanted  to  give  him  back  the  bill. 

For  the  first  time  since  their  interview  he  tossed 
his  head  impatiently  and  said: 

"I  am  not  talking  about  that  money  now!    Kindly 


214  SHALLOW  SOIL 

make  at  least  an  effort  to  understand  me —  What- 
ever money  you  need  shall  be  sent  you  as  soon  as 
you  inform  me  where  to  send  it." 

"But,  dear  me,"  she  said  in  confusion,  "do  I  have 
to  go  away?  I  thought  I  could  stay  in  the  city. 
What  do  you  want  me  to  do?" 

"Whatever  is  agreeable  to  you.  You  will  let  the 
children  remain  here,  won't  you?  I  shall  take  good 
care  of  them;  you  need  not  worry  about  that.  As 
for  yourself,  I  suppose  you  will  want  to  take  an 
apartment  somewhere.  You  know  it  takes  three 
years,  don't  you?" 

She  was  standing  with  the  bill  in  her  hand,  gaz- 
ing at  it  abstractedly.  She  was  unable  to  think 
clearly;  her  mind  was  whirling;  but  deep  down  she 
had  a  vague  feeling  of  relief — she  was  free  at  last! 
She  said  nothing;  he  felt  his  self-control  give  way 
and  wanted  to  get  it  over  with  quickly  so  as  not  to 
break  down. 

"Good-bye,  then — '  He  could  say  no  more,  but 
offered  her  his  hand;  she  took  it.  "I  hope  we  shall 
see  each  other  occasionally;  but  I  want  to  thank 
you  now  for  everything;  this  may  be  the  last  chance 
I  shall  have —  I  shall  send  you  the  money  every 
month."  And  he  put  on  his  hat  and  went  to  the 
door. 

She  followed  him  with  her  eyes.  Was  this  An- 
dreas? 

"Well,  I  suppose  you  want  to  go,"  she  said,  be- 


SIXTYFOLD  215 

wildered,  "and  I  am  standing  here  delaying  you. 
I  suppose  we  shall  have  to  do  as  you  say —  I  don't 
know  what  I  am  saying — "  Her  voice  broke  sud- 
denly. 

Tidemand  opened  the  door  with  trembling  hands 
and  let  her  out.  At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  she  stopped 
and  let  him  walk  ahead.  When  he  reached  the 
landing  he  waited  for  her;  then  he  opened  the  door 
with  his  key  and  held  it  for  her.  When  she  was 
inside  he  said: 

"Good  night,  then!" 

And  again  Tidemand  walked  down-stairs,  down  to 
his  office,  where  he  shut  himself  in.  He  went  over 
to  the  window  and  stood  there,  his  hands  clasped 
behind  him,  staring  out  into  the  street  with  unseeing 
eyes.  No,  she  had  not  changed  her  mind  in  the 
least,  that  was  not  to  be  expected.  She  had  not 
hesitated.  There  she  had  stood,  with  her  elbow  on 
the  desk;  she  had  heard  what  he  said  and  she  had 
replied:  "Well,  I  suppose  we  shall  have  to  do  as  you 
say."  There  had  been  no  hesitation,  no,  none  at  all. 
.  .  .  But  she  had  not  exulted,  either;  she  had  spared 
him  from  witnessing  any  outburst  of  joy.  She  had 
been  considerate — he  had  to  admit  that.  Oh,  Hanka 
was  always  considerate;  God  bless  her  wherever  she 
went!  She  had  stood  there.  Hanka,  Hanka!  .  .  . 
But  probably  she  was  rejoicing  now;  why  shouldn't 
she  be?  She  had  had  her  way.  .  .  .  And  the  chil- 
dren were  asleep  now,  both  Ida  and  Johanna.  Poor 


216  SHALLOW  SOIL 

little  things;  they  did  not  even  reach  up  to  their 
pillows!  Well,  they  would  be  provided  for.  One 
might  be  getting  a  little  grey,  but  there  was  still  a 
fight  or  two  left.  .  .  . 

And  Tidemand  went  back  to  his  desk.     He  worked 
over  his  books  and  papers  until  daylight. 


II 

MRS.  HANKA  looked  in  vain  for  Irgens  for  sev- 
eral days.  She  had  hurried  to  him  to  bring  him 
the  joyful  news;  she  was  free  at  last!  But  he  was 
never  at  home.  His  door  was  locked,  and  it  was 
not  opened  when  she  knocked;  consequently  he 
must  be  out.  She  did  not  meet  him  in  his  usual 
haunts,  either.  Finally  she  had  to  write  to  him  and 
make  an  appointment;  she  wrote  that  she  had  ex- 
cellent news  for  him. 

But  during  these  two  days,  these  long  hours  of 
waiting  in  which  she  could  do  nothing,  it  seemed 
as  if  her  joy  over  the  coming  divorce  had  begun  to 
wane.  She  had  dwelt  on  her  happiness  so  long  that 
she  had  grown  accustomed  to  it;  it  did  not  make 
her  heart  beat  faster  any  more.  She  was  going  to 
be  free  from  her  husband — true,  but  she  had  not 
been  so  entirely  shackled  before.  The  difference 
was  not  so  pronounced  that  she  could  steadily  con- 
tinue to  revel  in  it. 

And  to  this  was  added  an  indefinable  fear,  now 
when  the  irre vocable  separation  confronted  her;  the 
thought  that  she  was  to  leave  her  home  was  tinged 
with  a  vague  sense  of  regretfulness,  of  impalpable 

217 


218  SHALLOW  SOIL 

foreboding.  Sometimes  a  quivering  pang  would 
pierce  her  heart  when  the  children  put  out  their 
little  arms  to  her;  why  that  pain?  She  had  got 
out  of  her  bed  last  night  and  looked  at  them  in 
their  sleep.  There  they  were  lying,  each  in  her  little 
bed;  they  had  kicked  the  blankets  off  and  were 
uncovered  up  to  their  very  arms,  but  they  slept 
soundly  and  moved,  now  and  then,  a  rosy  finger  or 
a  dimpled  toe  in  their  sleep.  Such  children!  To  lie 
there  unblushingly  naked,  with  arms  and  legs  point- 
ing in  all  directions!  She  tucked  them  carefully  in 
and  left  them  with  bowed  head,  her  shoulders  shaken 
by  inaudible  sobs. 

How  was  she  going  to  arrange  her  future?  She 
was  free,  but  in  reality  she  was  married  still;  for 
three  years  she  would  have  to  live  somewhere,  pay 
rent,  keep  house  for  herself.  She  had  worried  and 
fretted  about  this  for  two  long  days  without  any- 
one to  help  her;  what  could  have  happened  to  Ir- 
gens?  God  only  knew  where  he  kept  himself.  She 
had  not  once  seen  her  former  husband. 

She  started  for  Irgens's  rooms.  Surely  he  would 
help  her  find  a  place  and  get  settled!  Oh,  it  was 
fine  to  have  an  end  to  this  daily  galling  restraint; 
here  she  had  been  tortured  by  dissatisfaction  and 
restlessness  for  months  and  years,  ever  since  she 
had  been  introduced  to  the  clique  and  had  acquired 
a  taste  for  their  irresponsible  mode  of  living.  She 
was  free,  free  and  young!  She  would  overwhelm 


SIXTYFOLD  219 

Irgens  with  this  joyful  news,  he  who  had  so  often 
sighed  for  that  divorce  during  their  most  intimate 
hours 

Irgens  was  at  home  at  last. 

She  told  him  the  great  news  at  once.  She  re- 
counted how  it  had  happened,  repeated  Tidemand's 
words,  and  praised  his  superiority.  She  gazed  into 
Irgens's  eyes;  her  own  were  sparkling.  Irgens,  how- 
ever, did  not  show  any  great  exultation;  he  smiled, 
said  yes  and  no,  asked  her  if  she  were  satisfied  now. 
So  she  was  really  going  to  get  a  divorce?  He  was 
glad  to  hear  it;  it  was  foolish  to  go  through  life  in 
this  heart-breaking  manner.  .  .  .  But  he  sat  there 
very  quietly  and  discussed  the  great  news  in  an 
every-day  voice. 

Gradually,  very  gradually,  she  came  to  earth;  her 
heart  began  to  flutter  wildly. 

"It  seems  as  if  the  news  does  not  make  you  so 
very  happy,  Irgens,"  she  said. 

"  Happy?  Of  course  I  am.  Why  shouldn't  I  be 
happy?  You  have  sighed  for  this  for  a  long  time; 
why  shouldn't  I  rejoice  with  you  now?  I  do,  most 
assuredly." 

Words  only,  without  fire,  without  warmth  even! 
What  could  have  happened?  Did  he  not  love  her 
any  more?  She  sat  there,  her  heart  heavy  within 
her;  she  wanted  to  gain  time,  to  hush  the  waken- 
ing terror  in  her  breast.  She  said: 

"But,  dear,  where  have  you  been  all  this  time? 


220  SHALLOW  SOIL 

I  have  called  on  you  three  times  without  finding 
you  in." 

He  answered,  choosing  his  words  carefully,  that 
she  must  have  missed  him  because  of  an  unfortu- 
nate series  of  accidents.  He  went  out  occasionally, 
of  course;  but  he  spent  most  of  his  time  at  home. 
Where  in  the  world  could  he  go?  He  went  nowhere. 

Pause.  Finally  she  yielded  abjectly  to  her  fears 
and  stammered: 

"Well,  Irgens,  I  am  yours  now,  entirely  yours! 
I  am  going  to  leave  the  house —  You  will  thank 
me,  won't  you?  It  will  take  three  years,  of  course, 
but  then " 

She  stopped  suddenly;  she  felt  that  he  was 
squirming,  that  he  was  bracing  himself  against  the 
inevitable;  her  terror  increased  as  he  remained  si- 
lent. A  few  anguished  moments  went  by. 

"Well,  Hanka,  this  is  rather  unfortunate,  in  a 
way,"  he  began  finally.  "You  have  evidently  un- 
derstood me  to  mean  that  when  you  got  your  di- 
vorce— that  if  you  only  were  free —  Of  course,  I 
may  have  said  something  to  that  effect;  I  admit 
that  if  you  have  interpreted  my  words  literally  such 
a  supposition  is  probably  justified.  I  have  most 
likely  said  things  more  than  once — 

"Yes,  of  course,"  she  interrupted;  "we  have  never 
meant  anything  else,  have  we?  For  you  love  me, 
don't  you?  What  is  the  matter?  You  are  so 
strange  to-day!" 


SIXTYFOLD  221 

"I  am  awfully  sorry,  but  really — things  are  not 
as  they  used  to  be."  He  looked  away  sadly  and 
searched  for  words.  "I  cannot  lie  to  you,  Hanka, 
and  the  plain  truth  is  that  I  am  not  enraptured  by 
you  as  much  as  I  used  to  be.  It  would  hardly  be 
right  to  deceive  you;  anyway,  I  couldn't  do  it — 
it  is  beyond  me." 

At  last  she  understood;  these  were  plain  words. 
And  quietly  bending  her  head,  yielding  to  the  inevi- 
table, letting  go  of  the  last  lingering  hope,  she  whis- 
pered in  a  dull  and  broken  voice: 

"Couldn't  do  it;  no —  It  is  all  over,  irrevocably 
over — 

He  sat  there  silent. 

Suddenly  she  turned  and  looked  at  him.  Her 
white  teeth  showed  beneath  the  slightly  raised  upper 
lip  as  she  endeavoured  to  force  a  smile.  She  said 
slowly: 

"But  surely  it  cannot  all  be  over,  Irgens?  Re- 
member, I  have  sacrificed  a  great  deal " 

But  he  shook  his  head. 

"Yes,  I  am  awfully  sorry,  but —  Do  you  know 
what  I  was  thinking  of  just  now  when  I  didn't 
answer  you?  You  said  'irrevocably  over.'  I  was 
wondering  if  that  was  proper  grammar,  if  it  sounded 
right.  That  shows  how  little  this  scene  really  affects 
me;  you  can  see  for  yourself  that  I  am  not  beside 
myself  with  grief — not  even  deeply  stirred.  That 
ought  to  show  you—  And  as  if  he  wanted  to  util- 


222         p  SHALLOW  SOIL 

ise  the  opportunity  to  the  utmost  and  leave  no  room 
for  doubt,  he  continued:  "Did  you  say  that  you 
have  been  here  three  times,  looking  for  me?  I  know 
that  you  have  been  here  twice.  I  think  I  ought  to 
tell  you,  so  that  you  can  see  how  impossible  it  is  for 
me  to  pretend:  I  sat  here  and  heard  you  knock, 
but  I  didn't  open.  That  surely  proves  the  mat- 
ter is  serious—  Dearest  Hanka,  I  cannot  help  it; 
really,  you  mustn't  be  unhappy.  But  you  surely 
will  admit  that  our  relationship  must  have  been  a 
little  galling,  a  little  humiliating,  to  me  as  well?  It 
is  true;  it  has  not  been  easy  for  me  to  accept  money 
from  you  continually;  I  have  said  to  myself:  'This 
degrades  you!'  You  understand,  don't  you — a  man 
with  a  nature  like  mine;  unhappily,  I  am  proud, 
whether  it  is  a  virtue  or  a  vice  in  me 

Pause. 

"All  right,"  she  said  mechanically,  "all  right." 
And  she  rose  in  order  to  go.  Her  eyes  were  wide 
and  staring,  but  she  saw  nothing. 

However,  he  wanted  to  explain  himself  thor- 
oughly; she  must  not  leave  with  a  wrong  impres- 
sion of  him.  He  called  her  back;  he  wanted  to 
prove  why  it  could  not  have  been  otherwise,  why 
his  conduct  was  beyond  reproach.  He  spoke  at 
length  and  cleared  up  the  matter  perfectly;  it  seemed 
as  if  he  had  expected  this  and  had  prepared  himself 
thoroughly.  There  were  a  number  of  bagatelles; 
but  it  was  just  the  little  things  that  counted  with  a 


SIXTYFOLD  223 

man  like  him,  and  these  little  things  had  gradually 
made  it  so  clear  to  him  that  they  were  not  com- 
patible. Of  course,  she  was  fond  of  him,  a  great 
deal  more  so  than  he  deserved;  but  all  the  same 
he  was  not  sure  that  she  understood  and  appre- 
ciated him  fully.  This  was  not  said  reproachfully, 
but—  She  had  said  that  she  was  proud  of  him,  and 
that  she  enjoyed  seeing  the  ladies  turn  and  look 
after  him  when  they  walked  down  the  street  to- 
gether. All  right!  But  that  did  not  prove  that 
she  valued  his  individuality.  She  took  no  pride  in 
the  fact  that  he  was,  above  all,  a  somewhat  different 
individuality.  Of  course,  he  did  not  blame  her; 
but,  unfortunately,  it  proved  that  her  understanding 
of  him  was  not  deep  enough.  She  was  not  proud 
of  him  for  what  he  had  thought  or  written;  not 
primarily,  at  any  rate;  she  loved  to  see  the  ladies 
look  after  him  on  the  street.  But  ladies  might 
turn  and  look  after  anybody,  even  after  an  officer 
or  a  tradesman.  She  had  once  given  him  a  cane 
so  that  he  might  look  well  on  the  street.  .  .  . 

"No,  Irgens,  I  had  no  such  thought,  not  at  all," 
she  interrupted. 

All  right,  he  might  have  been  mistaken;  if  she 
said  so,  of  course  .  .  .  Nevertheless,  he  had  the 
impression  that  such  was  her  reason.  He  had 
thought  that  if  he  couldn't  pass  muster  without  a 
cane,  then  .  .  .  For  even  those  two  sheared  sheep 
of  Ojen's  used  a  cane.  In  brief,  he  gave  the  cane 


224  SHALLOW  SOIL 

away  to  the  first  comer.  .  .  .  But  there  were  other 
little  things,  other  bagatelles:  She  liked  to  go  to 
the  opera;  he  didn't.  She  went  without  him,  and 
he  was  very  much  pleased,  of  course;  still  .  .  . 
She  wore  a  light  woollen  dress,  and  when  he  was  with 
her  his  clothes  got  full  of  fuzz  from  her  dress,  but 
she  never  noticed  it.  He  had  to  brush  and  pick 
fuzz  unceasingly  to  avoid  looking  as  if  he  had  been 
in  bed  fully  dressed;  but  did  she  notice?  Never. 
And  in  this  manner  one  thing  after  another  had  come 
between  them  and  had  affected  his  feelings  for  her. 
There  were  hundreds  of  little  things!  A  little  while 
ago  her  lips  had  been  so  badly  cracked  that  she 
couldn't  even  smile  naturally;  and  just  think, 
an  insignificant  thing  like  that  had  repulsed  him, 
absolutely  spoiled  her  for  him!  Dear  me,  she  must 
not  think  that  he  found  fault  with  her  because  of 
a  cracked  lip;  he  knew  very  well  that  she  could  not 
help  such  a  thing;  he  was  not  stupid.  .  .  .  But  the 
truth  of  the  matter  was  that  it  had  reached  a  point 
where  he  was  beginning  to  dread  her  visits.  He 
had  to  admit  it;  he  had  sat  on  this  very  chair  and 
suffered,  suffered  tortures,  when  he  heard  her  knock 
on  the  door.  However,  no  sooner  had  she  gone 
away  than  he  felt  relieved;  he  got  ready  and  went 
out,  too.  He  went  to  some  restaurant  and  dined, 
dined  unfeelingly  and  with  a  good  appetite,  not  at 
all  deploring  what  he  had  done.  He  wanted  her  to 
know  these  things  so  that  she  would  understand 


SIXTYFOLD  225 

him.  .  .  .  "But,  dearest  Hanka,  I  have  told  you  all 
this  and  perhaps  added  to  your  sorrow  instead  of 
alleviating  it.  I  wanted  you  to  see  how  necessary 
has  become  our  parting — that  there  are  deep  and 
weighty  reasons  for  it — that  it  is  not  merely  a  whim. 
Unfortunately,  these  things  are  deeply  rooted  in  my 
nature —  But  don't  take  it  so  to  heart!  You  know 
I  am  fond  of  you  and  appreciate  all  you  have  done 
for  me;  and  I  shall  never  be  able  to  forget  you;  I 
feel  that  only  too  well.  Tell  me  that  you  will  take 

it  calmly — that  is  all  I  ask 

She  sat  there,  dull  and  immobile.  Her  premo- 
nition had  not  deceived  her;  it  was  all  over.  There 
he  sat;  he  had  spoken  about  this  and  that  and  re- 
membered this  and  that — everything  that  could 
possibly  explain  and  justify  his  actions.  He  had 
said  a  great  deal,  he  had  even  bared  himself  in  spots; 
yes,  how  penuriously  hadn't  he  scraped  up  the  least 
little  thing  that  might  vindicate  him  in  the  slightest 
degree!  How  could  she  ask  him  to  advise  her?  He 
would  simply  refer  her  to  the  newspaper  advertise- 
ments: "  Flats  and  Apartments  to  Let."  How  in- 
significant he  suddenly  appeared!  Slowly  he  blurred 
before  her  eyes;  he  was  blotted  out;  he  became  lost 
in  the  dim  distance;  she  saw  him  as  through  a  haze; 
she  barely  discerned  his  mother-of-pearl  buttons  and 
his  sleek  and  shiny  hair.  She  realised  how  her  eyes 
had  been  opened  during  his  long  speech;  there  he 
sat  . 


226  SHALLOW  SOIL 

She  felt  languidly  that  she  ought  to  go,  but  she 
lacked  the  energy  to  get  up.  She  felt  hollow  and 
empty;  the  last  little  illusion  to  which  she  had 
clung  so  tenaciously  had  collapsed  miserably.  Some- 
body's step  sounded  on  the  stairs;  she  did  not  re- 
member whether  or  no  the  door  was  locked,  but  she 
did  not  go  and  make  sure.  The  steps  died  down 
again;  nobody  knocked. 

"  Dearest  Hanka,"  he  said  in  an  effort  to  console 
her  as  best  he  might,  "you  ought  to  start  in  in  ear- 
nest and  write  that  novel  we  have  talked  about.  I 
am  sure  you  could  do  it,  and  I  will  gladly  go  over 
the  manuscript  for  you.  The  effort,  the  concentra- 
tion would  do  you  good;  you  know  I  want  to  see 
you  content  and  satisfied." 

Yes,  once  upon  a  time,  she  had  really  thought 
she  would  write  a  novel.  Why  not?  Here  one 
miss  bobbed  up,  and  there  another  madam  bobbed 
up,  and  they  all  did  write  so  cutely!  Yes,  she  had 
really  thought  that  it  was  her  turn  next.  And  how 
they  all  had  encouraged  her!  Thank  God,  she  had 
forgotten  about  it  until  now! 

"You  do  not  answer,  Hanka?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  absently,  "there  is  something  in 
what  you  say." 

She  got  up  suddenly  and  stood  erect  staring 
straight  ahead.  If  she  only  knew  what  to  do  now! 
Go  home?  That  would  probably  be  the  best.  Had 
she  had  parents  she  would  most  likely  have  gone 


SIXTYFOLD  227 

to  them;  however,  she  had  never  had  any  par- 
ents, practically.  She  had  better  go  home  to  Tide- 
mand,  where  she  still  lived.  .  .  . 

And  with  a  desolate  smile  she  gave  Irgens  her 
hand  and  said  farewell. 

He  felt  so  relieved  because  of  her  calmness  that 
he  pressed  her  hand  warmly.  What  a  sensible 
woman  she  was,  after  all!  No  hysterics,  no  heart- 
rending reproaches;  she  said  farewell  with  a  smile! 
He  wanted  to  brace  her  still  more  and  talked  on 
in  order  to  divert  her  mind;  he  mentioned  his  work 
and  plans;  he  would  surely  send  her  his  next  book; 
she  would  find  him  again  in  that.  And,  really,  she 
ought  to  get  busy  on  that  novel.  ...  To  show  her 
that  then:  friendship  was  still  unbroken  he  even 
asked  her  to  speak  to  Gregersen  about  that  review 
of  his  book.  It  was  most  extraordinary  that  his 
verses  had  attracted  so  little  attention.  If  she 
would  only  do  him  this  favour.  He  himself  would 
never  be  able  to  approach  Gregersen;  he  was  too 
proud;  he  could  never  stoop  to  that.  .  .  . 

She  went  over  to  the  mirror  and  began  arranging 
her  hair.  He  could  not  help  watching  her;  she 
really  surprised  him  a  little.  It  was  of  course  ad- 
mirable in  her  to  keep  her  feelings  in  leash;  still, 
this  unruffled  composure  was  not  altogether  au  fait. 
He  had  really  credited  her  with  a  little  more  depth; 
he  had  ventured  to  think  that  a  settlement  with 
him  would  affect  her  somewhat.  And  there  she 


228  SHALLOW  SOIL 

stood  tranquilly  and  arranged  her  hair  with  appar- 
ent unconcern!  He  could  not  appreciate  such  a  dis- 
play of  sang-froid.  To  tell  the  truth,  he  felt  snubbed ; 
and  he  made  the  remark  that  he  was  still  present; 
it  seemed  peculiar  that  she  had  already  so  completely 
forgotten  him.  .  .  . 

She  did  not  answer.  But  when  she  left  the  mir- 
ror she  paused  for  a  moment  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  and  with  her  eyes  somewhere  in  the  vicinity 
of  his  shoes,  she  said  wearily  and  indifferently: 

"  Don't  you  understand  that  I  am  entirely  through 
with  you?" 

But  in  the  street,  bathed  in  the  bright  sunshine, 
surrounded  by  people  and  carriages — there  her 
strength  gave  way  entirely  and  she  began  to  sob 
wildly.  She  covered  her  face  with  her  veil,  and 
sought  the  least-frequented  side-streets  in  order  to 
avoid  meeting  anybody;  she  walked  hurriedly, 
stooping,  shaken  by  convulsive  sobs.  How  densely 
dark  the  outlook  whichever  way  she  turned  her  eyes! 
She  hurried  on,  walking  in  the  middle  of  the  street, 
talking  to  herself  in  a  choked  voice.  Could  she  re- 
turn to  Andreas  and  the  children?  What  if  the 
door  should  be  closed  against  her?  She  had  wasted 
two  days;  perhaps  Andreas  now  had  grown  impa- 
tient. Still,  the  door  might  be  open  if  she  only 
hurried.  .  .  . 

Every  time  she  took  out  her  handkerchief  she  felt 
the  crinkle  of  an  envelope.  That  was  the  envelope 


SIXTYFOLD  229 

with  the  hundred-crown  bill;  she  still  had  that! 
Oh — if  she  only  had  somebody  to  go  to  now,  a 
friend — not  any  of  her  "friends"  from  the  clique; 
she  was  through  with  them!  She  had  been  one  of 
them  a  }rear  and  a  day;  she  had  listened  to  their 
words  and  she  had  seen  their  deeds.  How  had  she 
been  able  to  endure  them?  Thank  God,  she  was 
done  with  them  forever.  Could  she  go  to  Ole  Hen- 
riksen  and  ask  help  from  him?  No,  no;  she  couldn't 
do  that. 

Andreas  would  probably  be  busy  in  his  office. 
She  had  not  seen  him  for  two  days;  very  likely  it 
was  an  accident,  but  it  was  so.  And  she  had  ac- 
cepted a  hundred  crowns  from  him,  although  he  was 
ruined!  Dear  me,  that  she  hadn't  thought  of  this 
before  now!  She  had  asked  him  for  that  money. 
"Yes,"  he  had  said;  "will  you  please  come  into  the 
office?  I  have  not  so  much  with  me."  And  he  had 
opened  his  safe  and  given  her  the  hundred;  perhaps 
it  was  all  the  money  he  had!  He  had  proffered  the 
bill  in  such  a  gentle  and  unobtrusive  manner,  al- 
though, perhaps,  it  was  all  the  money  he  owned! 
His  hair  had  turned  a  little  grey  and  he  looked  as  if 
he  hadn't  had  much  sleep  lately;  but  he  had  not 
complained;  his  words  were  spoken  in  proud  and 
simple  dignity.  It  had  seemed  as  if  she  saw  him 
then  for  the  first  time.  .  .  .  Oh,  would  that  she 
never  had  asked  him  for  this  money!  Perhaps  he 
might  forgive  her  if  she  brought  it  back.  Would  she 


230  SHALLOW  SOIL 

bother  him  very  much  if  she  stopped  at  his  office 
a  moment?  She  would  not  stay  long.  .  .  . 

Mrs.  Hanka  dried  her  eyes  beneath  her  veil  and 
walked  on.  When  at  last  she  stood  outside  Tide- 
mand's  office  she  hesitated.  Suppose  he  turned  her 
out?  Perhaps  he  even  knew  where  she  had  been? 

A  clerk  told  her  that  Tidemand  was  in. 

She  knocked  and  listened.  He  called:  " Come  in." 
She  entered  quietly.  He  was  standing  at  his  desk; 
he  put  down  his  pen  when  he  saw  her. 

''Pardon  me  if  I  disturb  you,"  she  said  hurriedly. 

"Not  at  all,"  he  said,  and  waited.  A  pile  of  let- 
ters was  before  him;  he  stood  there,  tall  and  straight; 
he  did  not  look  so  very  grey,  and  his  eyes  were  not 
so  listless. 

She  took  the  bill  out  and  held  it  toward  him. 

"I  only  wanted  to  return  this;  and  please  forgive 
me  for  asking  for  money  when  I  might  have  known 
that  you  must  need  it  so  badly.  I  never  thought 
of  it  until  now;  I  am  extremely  sorry." 

He  looked  at  her  in  surprise  and  said: 

"Not  at  all — you  just  keep  that!  A  hundred 
more  or  less  means  nothing  to  the  business — noth- 
ing at  all." 

"Yes,  but — please  take  it!    I  ask  you  to  take  it." 

"All  right,  if  you  don't  need  it.  I  thank  you,  bub 
it  is  not  necessary." 

He  had  thanked  her!  What  a  fortunate  thing 
that  she  had  the  money  and  could  give  it  back  to 


SIXTYFOLD  231 

him!  But  she  suppressed  her  agitation  and  said 
"Thank  you"  herself  as  she  shoved  the  bill  over 
toward  him.  When  she  saw  him  reach  for  his  pen 
again,  she  said  with  a  wan  smile : 

"You  must  not  be  impatient  because  of  this  long 
delay—  I  have  made  very  little  progress  in  the 
matter  of  taking  an  apartment,  but " 

She  could  control  herself  no  longer;  her  voice 
broke  entirely  and  she  turned  away  from  him,  fum- 
bling for  her  handkerchief  with  trembling  fingers. 

"There  is  no  great  hurry  about  that,"  he  said. 
"Take  all  the  time  you  want." 

"I  thank  you." 

"You  thank  me?  I  don't  quite  understand.  It 
isn't  I  who —  I  am  simply  trying  to  make  it  easy 
for  you  to  have  your  own  way." 

She  was  afraid  she  had  irritated  him,  and  she 
said  hastily: 

"Of  course,  yes!  Oh,  I  didn't  mean —  Pardon 
me  for  disturbing  you." 

And  she  turned  and  fled  out  of  the  office. 


Ill 

TIDEMAND  had  not  been  idle  a  moment  since  the 
blow  struck  him.  He  was  at  his  desk  early  and 
late;  papers,  bills,  notes,  and  certificates  fluttered 
around  him,  and  his  energy  and  skill  brought  order 
out  of  confusion  as  the  days  went  by.  Ole  Hen- 
riksen  had  supported  him  on  demand;  he  had  paid 
cash  for  the  country  estate  and  had  relieved  him 
of  several  outstanding  obligations. 

It  was  made  clear  that  the  firm  did  not  have  an 
impregnable  fortune  to  throw  into  the  breach,  even 
though  it  carried  on  such  a  far-reaching  business 
and  although  its  transactions  were  enormous.  And 
who  had  even  heard  of  such  a  crazily  hazardous 
speculation  as  Tidemand's  fatal  plunge  in  rye! 
Everybody  could  see  that  now,  and  everybody  pit- 
ied or  scorned  him  according  to  his  individual  dis- 
position. Tidemand  let  them  talk;  he  worked,  cal- 
culated, made  arrangements,  and  kept  things  going. 
True,  he  held  in  storage  an  enormous  supply  of  rye 
which  he  had  bought  too  high:  but  rye  was  rye, 
after  all;  it  did  not  deteriorate  or  shrink  into  noth- 
ingness; he  sold  it  steadily  at  prevailing  prices  and 

232 


SIXTYFOLD  233 

took  his  losses  like  a  man.  His  misfortunes  had 
not  broken  his  spirits. 

He  now  had  to  weather  the  last  turn — a  demand 
note  from  the  American  brokers — and  for  this  he 
required  Ole  Henriksen's  assistance;  after  that  he 
hoped  to  be  able  to  manage  unaided.  It  was  his 
intention  to  simplify  his  business,  to  reduce  it  to 
original  dimensions  and  then  gradually  extend  it  as 
it  should  show  healthy  growth.  He  would  succeed; 
his  head  was  still  full  of  plans  and  he  was  resource- 
ful as  ever. 

Tidemand  gathered  his  papers  together  and  went 
over  to  Ole's  office.  It  was  Monday.  They  had 
both  finished  their  mail  and  were  momentarily 
disengaged,  but  Tidemand  had  to  make  a  call  at 
the  bank;  he  had  arranged  an  appointment  at 
five. 

As  soon  as  Ole  saw  him  he  laid  down  his  pen  and 
arose  to  meet  him.  They  still  celebrated  their  meet- 
ings in  the  usual  manner;  the  wine  and  the  cigars 
appeared  as  before;  nothing  had  changed.  Tide- 
mand did  not  want  to  disturb ;  he  would  rather  lend 
a  hand  if  he  could,  but  Ole  refused  smilingly;  he 
had  absolutely  nothing  to  do. 

Well,  Tidemand  had  brought  his  usual  tale  of  woe. 
He  was  beginning  to  be  a  good  deal  of  a  nuisance; 
he  simply  came  to  see  Ole  whenever  there  was  any- 
thing the  matter.  .  .  . 

Ole  interrupted  him  with  a  merry  laugh. 


234  SHALLOW  SOIL 

"Whatever  you  do,  don't  forget  to  apologise 
every  time!" 

Ole  signed  the  papers  and  said: 

"How  are  things  coming  out?" 

"Oh,  about  as  usual.  One  day  at  a  time,  you 
know." 

"Your  wife  hasn't  moved  as  yet?" 

"Not  yet — no.  I  imagine  she  has  a  hard  time  find- 
ing a  suitable  apartment.  Well,  that  is  her  lookout. 
What  I  want  to  say — how  is  Miss  Aagot?" 

"All  right,  I  guess;  she  is  out  walking.  Irgens 
called  for  her." 

Pause. 

Ole  said:  "You  still  have  all  your  help?" 

"Well,  you  see,  I  couldn't  fire  them  all  in  a  min- 
ute; they  have  to  have  time  to  look  around  for 
something  else.  But  they  are  leaving  soon;  I  am 
only  going  to  keep  one  man  in  the  office." 

They  discussed  business  matters  for  a  while.  Tide- 
mand  had  ground  up  a  large  quantity  of  his  grain 
in  order  to  accelerate  the  sales;  he  sold  and  lost, 
but  he  raised  money.  There  was  no  longer  any 
danger  of  a  receivership.  He  had  also  a  little  idea, 
a  plan  which  had  begun  to  ferment  in  his  brain; 
but  he  would  rather  not  mention  it  until  it  had 
been  developed  a  little  more  fully.  One  did  not 
stand  knee-deep  in  schemes  day  in  and  day  out 
without  occasionally  stumbling  over  an  idea.  Sud- 
denly he  said: 


SIXTYFOLD  235 

"If  I  could  be  sure  of  not  offending  you  I  should 
like  to  speak  to  you  about  something  that  concerns 
yourself  only —  I  don't  want  to  hurt  your  feelings, 
but  I  have  thought  a  good  deal  about  it.  Hm;  it 
is  about  Irgens —  You  should  not  allow  Aagot  to 
go  out  so  much.  Miss  Aagot  walks  a  good  deal 
with  him  lately.  It  would  be  all  right  if  you  were 
along;  of  course,  it  is  perfectly  right  as  it  is — that 
she  should  take  a  walk  occasionally,  buir —  Well, 
don't  be  angry  because  I  mention  this." 

Ole  looked  at  him  with  open  mouth,  then  he 
burst  out  laughing. 

"But,  friend  Andreas,  what  do  you  mean?  Since 
when  did  you  begin  to  look  at  people  distrustfully?" 

Tidemand  interrupted  him  brusquely. 

"I  only  want  to  tell  you  that  I  have  never  been 
in  the  habit  of  carrying  gossip." 

Ole  looked  at  him  steadily.  What  could  be  the 
matter  with  Tidemand?  His  eyes  had  become  cold 
and  steely;  he  put  down  his  glass  hard.  Gossip? 
Of  course  not.  Tidemand  did  not  carry  gossip,  but 
his  mind  must  have  become  affected. 

"Well,  you  may  be  right  if  you  mean  that  this 
kind  of  thing  may  lead  to  unpleasant  comment,  to 
gossip,"  Ole  said  finally.  "I  really  have  not  given 
it  a  thought,  but  now  you  mention  it —  I  will  give 
Aagot  a  hint  the  first  opportunity  I  have." 

Nothing  further  was  said  on  the  subject;  the 
conversation  swung  back  to  Tidemand's  affairs. 


236  SHALLOW  SOIL 

How  was  it — did  he  still  take  his  meals  in  res- 
taurants? 

He  did  for  the  present.  What  else  could  he  do? 
He  would  have  to  stick  to  the  restaurants  for  a  while, 
otherwise  the  gossips  would  finish  poor  Hanka  alto- 
gether. People  would  simply  say  that  she  was  to 
blame  if  he  hadn't  kept  house  the  last  few  years; 
no  sooner  had  she  departed  than  Tidemand  again 
went  to  housekeeping  and  stayed  at  home.  No- 
body knew  what  construction  might  be  put  on  such 
things;  Hanka  did  not  have  too  many  friends. 
Tidemand  laughed  at  the  thought  that  he  was  fool- 
ing the  slanderous  tongues  so  capitally.  "She  came 
to  see  me  a  couple  of  days  ago;  I  was  in  my  office. 
I  thought  at  first  it  was  some  bill-collector,  some 
dun  or  other,  who  knocked  at  my  door;  but  it  was 
Hanka.  Can  you  guess  what  she  wanted?  She 
came  to  give  me  a  hundred  crowns!  She  had  prob- 
ably saved  the  money.  Of  course,  you  might  say 
that  it  really  was  my  own  money;  you  might  say 
that.  Still,  she  could  have  kept  it;  but  she  knew  I 
was  a  little  pinched —  She  hasn't  gone  out  at  all 
the  last  few  days;  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  how  she 
is  keeping  alive.  I  don't  see  her,  but  the  maid 
says  she  eats  in  her  room  sometimes.  She  is  work- 
ing, too;  she  is  busy  all  the  time." 

"It  wouldn't  surprise  me  at  all  to  see  her  stay 
with  you.  Things  may  turn  out  all  right  yet." 

Tidemand  glanced  at  his  friend  sharply. 


SIXTYFOLD  237 

"You  believe  that?  Wasn't  it  you  who  once  said 
that  I  was  no  glove  to  be  picked  up  or  thrown  away 
according  to  some  one's  fancy?  Well,  she  has  prob- 
ably no  more  thought  of  coming  back  than  I  have 
of  accepting  her." 

And  Tidemand  rose  quickly  and  said  good-bye; 
he  was  going  to  the  bank  and  had  to  hurry. 

Ole  remained  lost  in  contemplation;  Tidemand's 
fate  had  made  him  thoughtful.  What  had  become 
of  Aagot?  She  had  promised  to  be  back  in  an  hour, 
and  it  was  much  more  than  two  hours  since  she  had 
left.  Of  course,  it  was  all  right  to  take  a  walk, 
but  .  .  .  Tidemand  was  right.  Tidemand  had  his 
own  thoughts,  he  had  said;  what  could  he  have 
meant?  Suddenly  a  thought  struck  Ole — perhaps 
Irgens  was  the  destroyer  of  Tidemand's  home,  the 
slayer  of  his  happiness?  A  red  tie?  Didn't  Irgens 
use  a  red  tie  once? 

Suddenly  Ole  understood  Tidemand's  previous 
significant  remark  about  the  danger  of  boat-rides  in 
May.  Well,  well!  Come  to  think  of  it,  Aagot  had 
really  seemed  to  lose  the  desire  to  be  with  him  in 
the  office  early  and  late;  instead,  she  took  a  good 
many  walks  in  good  company;  she  wanted  to  view 
things  and  places  in  this  good  company.  .  .  . 
Hadn't  she  once  expressed  a  regret  that  he  was 
not  a  poet?  Still,  she  had  apologised  for  that  re- 
mark with  such  sweet  and  regretful  eagerness;  it 
was  a  thoughtless  jest.  No;  Aagot  was  innocent 


238  SHALLOW  SOIL 

as  a  child;  still,  for  his  sake,  she  might  refuse  an 
occasional  invitation  from  Irgens.  .  .  . 

Another  long  hour  went  by  before  Aagot  returned. 
Her  face  was  fresh  and  rosy,  her  eyes  sparkling. 
She  threw  her  arms  around  Ole's  neck;  she  always 
did  that  when  she  had  been  with  Irgens.  Ole's 
misgivings  dissolved  and  vanished  in  this  warm  em- 
brace; how  could  he  reproach  her  now?  He  only 
asked  her  to  stay  around  the  house  a  little  more— 
for  his  sake.  It  was  simply  unbearable  to  be  with- 
out her  so  long;  he  could  do  nothing  but  think  of 
her  all  the  time. 

Aagot  listened  quietly  to  him;  he  was  perfectly 
right;  she  would  remember. 

"And  perhaps  I  might  as  well  ask  another  favour 
of  you :  please  try  to  avoid  Irgens's  company  a  little 
more,  just  a  little  more.  I  don't  mean  anything, 
you  know;  but  it  would  be  better  not  to  give  peo- 
ple the  least  cause  for  talk.  Irgens  is  my  friend, 
and  I  am  his,  but —  Now,  don't  mind  what  I  have 
said " 

She  took  his  head  in  both  her  hands  and  turned 
his  face  toward  her.  She  looked  straight  into  his 
eyes  and  said: 

"Do  you  doubt  that  I  love  you,  Ole?" 

He  grew  confused;  he  was  too  close  to  her.  He 
stammered  and  took  a  step  backward. 

"Love  me?  Ha,  ha,  you  silly  girl!  Did  you 
think  I  was  chiding  you?  You  misunderstood  me; 


SIXTYFOLD  239 

I  thought  only  of  what  people  might  say;  I  want  to 
protect  you  from  gossip.  But  it  is  silly  of  me;  I 
should  have  said  nothing — you  might  even  take  it 
into  your  head  to  avoid  going  out  with  Irgens  in 
the  future!  And  that  would  never  do;  then  people 
would  surely  begin  to  wonder.  No;  forget  this  and 
act  as  if  nothing  had  been  said;  really,  Irgens  is  a 
rare  and  a  remarkable  man." 

However,  she  felt  the  need  of  explaining  matters: 
she  went  just  as  gladly  with  anybody  else  as  with 
Irgens;  it  had  only  happened  that  he  had  asked 
her.  She  admired  him;  she  would  not  deny  that, 
and  she  was  not  alone  in  that;  she  pitied  him  a 
little,  too;  imagine,  he  had  applied  for  a  subsidy 
and  had  been  refused!  She  felt  sorry  for  him,  but 
that  was  all.  .  .  . 

"Say  no  more  about  it!"  cried  Ole.  "Let  every- 
thing remain  as  it  is —  It  was  high  time  to  think 
a  little  of  the  wedding;  it  was  not  too  early  to 
make  definite  arrangements.  As  soon  as  he  re- 
turned from  that  trip  to  England  he  would  be  ready. 
And  he  thought  it  would  be  best  for  her  to  go  home 
to  Torahus  while  he  was  away;  when  everything 
was  hi  order  he  would  come  up  for  her.  Their  wed- 
ding trip  would  have  to  be  postponed  until  spring; 
he  would  be  too  busy  until  then. 

Aagot  smiled  happily  and  agreed  to  everything. 
A  vague,  inexplicable  wish  had  sprung  up  within 
her:  she  would  have  liked  to  remain  in  the  city 


240  SHALLOW  SOIL 

until  he  should  return  from  England;  then  they 
could  have  gone  to  Torahus  together.  She  did  not 
know  when  or  where  this  strange  desire  had  been 
born  in  her,  and  it  was,  for  that  matter,  not  suffi- 
ciently clear  or  definite  to  be  put  in  words;  she 
would  do  as  Ole  wished.  She  told  Ole  to  make 
haste  and  return;  her  eyes  were  open  and  candid; 
she  spoke  to  him  with  one  arm  on  his  shoulder  and 
the  other  resting  on  the  desk. 

And  he  had  presumed  to  give  her  a  hint! 


IV 

OVER  a  week  went  by  before  Irgens  turned  up 
again.  Had  he  become  suspicious?  Or  had  he  sim- 
ply tired  of  Aagot?  However,  he  entered  Ole's 
office  one  afternoon;  the  weather  was  clear  and 
sunny,  but  it  was  blowing  hard  and  the  dust  whirled 
through  the  streets  in  clouds  and  eddies.  He  was 
in  doubt  whether  Miss  Aagot  would  want  to  go  out 
on  such  a  day,  and  for  this  reason  he  said  at  once: 

"It  is  a  gloriously  windy  day,  Miss  Aagot;  I 
should  like  to  take  you  up  on  the  hills,  up  to  the 
high  places!  You  have  never  seen  anything  like  it; 
the  town  is  shrouded  in  dust  and  smoke." 

At  any  other  time  Ole  would  have  said  no;  it 
was  neither  healthy  nor  enjoyable  to  be  blown  full 
of  dust.  But  now  he  wanted  to  show  Aagot  that  he 
was  not  thinking  of  their  recent  conversation.  .  .  . 
Certainly;  run  along!  Really,  she  ought  to  take 
this  walk. 

And  Aagot  went. 

"It  is  an  age  since  I  have  seen  you,"  said  Irgens. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  am  busy  nowadays.  I  am 
going  home  soon." 

241 


242  SHALLOW  SOIL 


"You  are?"  he  asked  quickly  and  stopped. 

"  Yes.     I  am  coming  back,  though." 

Irgens  had  become  thoughtful. 

"I  am  afraid  it  is  blowing  a  little  too  hard,  after 
all,"  he  said.  "We  can  hardly  hear  ourselves  think. 
Suppose  we  go  to  the  Castle  Park?  I  know  a  cer- 
tain place " 

"As  you  like,"  she  said. 

They  found  the  place;  it  was  sheltered  and  iso- 
lated. Irgens  said: 

"To  be  entirely  candid,  it  was  not  my  intention 
to  drag  you  up  into  the  hills  to-day.  The  truth  of 
the  matter  is  that  I  was  afraid  you  would  not  care 
to  come;  that  is  the  reason  I  said  what  I  said.  For 
I  had  to  see  you  once  more." 

Pause. 

"Really —  I  have  ceased  to  wonder  at  anything 
you  say." 

"But  think — it  is  ten  days  since  I  have  seen  you! 
That  is  a  long,  a  very  long  time." 

"Well — that  is  not  altogether  my  fault —  But 
don't  let  us  talk  about  it  any  more,"  she  added 
quickly.  "Rather  tell  me — why  do  you  still  act 
toward  me  in  this  manner?  It  is  wrong  of  you.  I 
have  told  you  that  before.  I  should  like  to  be  friends 
with  you,  but " 

"But  no  more.  I  understand.  However,  that  is 
hardly  sufficient  for  one  who  is  distracted  with  suf- 
fering, you  know.  No,  you  do  not  know;  you  have 


SIXTYFOLD  243 

never  known.  Ever  and  ever  one  must  circle  around 
the  forbidden;  it  becomes  a  necessity  continually  to 
face  one's  fate.  If,  for  instance,  I  had  to  pay  for  a 
moment  like  this  with  age-long  wreck  and  ruin,  why, 
I  would  gladly  pay  the  price.  I  would  rather  be 
with  you  here  one  brief  moment,  Miss  Aagot,  than 
live  on  for  years  without  you." 

"Oh,  but—  It  is  too  late  now,  you  know.  Why 
talk  about  it,  then?  You  only  make  it  so  much 
harder  for  us  both." 

He  said,  slowly  and  emphatically: 

"No,  it  is  not  too  late." 

She  looked  at  him  steadily  and  rose  to  her  feet; 
he,  too,  got  up;  they  walked  on.  Immersed  in 
their  own  thoughts,  without  conscious  realisation  of 
what  they  were  doing,  walking  slowly,  they  made  the 
circuit  of  the  park  and  returned  to  their  sheltered 
nook.  They  sat  down  on  the  same  bench. 

"We  are  walking  in  a  circle, "  he  said.  "That  is 
the  way  I  am  circling  around  you." 

"Listen,"  she  said,  and  her  eyes  were  moist,  "this 
is  the  last  time  I  shall  be  with  you,  probably.  Won't 
you  be  nice?  I  am  going  home,  you  know,  very  soon 
now." 

But  just  as  he  was  preparing  to  answer  her  out  of 
the  fulness  of  his  heart  somebody  had  to  pass  their 
seat.  It  was  a  lady.  In  one  hand  she  carried  a  twig 
with  which  she  struck  her  skirt  smartly  for  every  step 
she  took.  She  approached  them  slowly;  they  saw 


244  SHALLOW  SOIL 

that  she  was  young.  Irgens  knew  her;  he  got  up 
from  his  seat,  took  off  his  hat,  and  bowed  deeply. 

And  the  lady  passed  blushingly  by. 

Aagot  asked: 

"Who  was  that?" 

"Only  my  landlady's  daughter,"  he  said.  "You 
told  me  to  be  nice.  Yes,  dearest 

But  Aagot  wanted  further  information  concerning 
this  lady.  So  they  lived  in  the  same  house?  What 
was  she  doing?  What  kind  of  a  person  was  his  land- 
lady? 

And  Irgens  answered  her  fully.  Just  as  if  she 
were  a  child  whose  curiosity  had  been  aroused  by 
the  merest  chance  occurrence,  Aagot  made  him  tell 
her  everything  he  knew  concerning  these  strange 
people  in  Thranes  Road  No.  5.  She  wondered 
why  the  lady  had  blushed;  why  Irgens  had  greeted 
her  so  obsequiously.  She  did  not  know  that  this 
was  the  way  Irgens  always  paid  his  rent— by  being 
particularly  gracious  to  his  landlady's  family  on  the 
street. 

The  young  lady  was  good-looking,  although  she 
had  a  few  freckles.  She  was  really  pretty  when  she 
blushed;  didn't  he  think  so? 

And  Irgens  agreed;  she  was  pretty.  But  she 
didn't  have  one  only  dimple;  there  was  only  one 
who  had  that.  .  .  . 

Aagot  glanced  at  him  quickly;  his  voice  thrilled 
her;  she  closed  her  eyes.  The  next  instant  she  felt 


SIXTYFOLD  245 

that  she  was  bending  toward  him,  that  he  kissed  her. 
Neither  spoke;  all  her  fears  were  lulled;  she  ceased 
to  struggle  and  rested  deliciously  in  his  arms. 

And  nobody  disturbed  them.  The  wind  soughed 
through  the  trees;  it  hushed  and  soothed  .  .  .  Some- 
body came  along;  they  rushed  apart  and  kept  their 
eyes  on  the  gravelled  walk  while  he  passed.  Aagot 
was  quite  equal  to  the  occasion;  she  did  not  show 
the  slightest  trace  of  confusion.  She  got  up  and 
began  to  walk  away.  And  now  she  began  to  think; 
the  tears  were  dripping  from  her  long  lashes,  and 
she  whispered,  dully,  despairingly: 

"God  forgive  me!    What  have  I  done?" 

Irgens  wanted  to  speak,  to  say  something  that 
would  soften  her  despair.  It  had  happened  because 
it  had  to  happen.  He  was  so  unspeakably  fond  of 
her;  she  surely  knew  he  was  in  earnest.  .  .  .  And 
he  really  looked  as  if  he  were  greatly  in  earnest. 

But  Aagot  heard  nothing;  she  walked  on,  repeat- 
ing these  desperate,  words.  Instinctively  she  took 
the  way  down  toward  the  city.  It  seemed  as  if  she 
were  hurrying  home. 

"Dearest  Aagot,  listen  a  moment " 

She  interrupted  violently: 

"Be  quiet,  will  you!" 

And  he  was  silent. 

Just  as  they  emerged  from  the  park  a  violent  gust 
tore  her  hat  from  her  hair.  She  made  an  effort  to 
recover  it,  but  too  late;  it  was  blown  back  into  the 


246  SHALLOW  SOIL 

park.  Irgens  caught  up  with  it  as  it  was  flattened 
against  a  tree. 

She  stood  still  for  a  moment;  then  she,  too,  be- 
gan to  run  in  pursuit,  and  when  at  last  they  met  by 
the  tree  her  despair  was  less  poignant.  Irgens 
handed  her  the  hat,  and  she  thanked  him.  She 
looked  embarrassed. 

As  they  were  walking  down  the  sloping  driveway 
toward  the  street  the  wind  made  Aagot  turn  and 
walk  backward  a  few  steps.  Suddenly  she  stopped. 
She  had  discovered  Coldevin;  he  was  walking  through 
the  park  in  the  direction  of  Tivoli.  He  walked  hur- 
riedly, furtively,  and  as  if  he  did  not  want  to  be 
seen.  So  he  was  still  in  the  city! 

And  Aagot  thought  in  sudden  terror:  What  if  he 
has  seen  us!  As  in  a  flash  she  understood.  He  was 
coming  from  the  park;  he  had  wanted  to  wait  un- 
til they  should  have  had  time  to  reach  the  street; 
then  the  accident  with  her  hat  had  spoiled  his  cal- 
culations and  made  him  show  himself  too  soon. 
How  he  stooped  and  squirmed!  But  he  could  find 
no  hiding-place  on  this  open  driveway. 

Aagot  called  to  him,  but  the  wind  drowned  her 
voice.  She  waved  her  hand,  but  he  pretended  not 
to  see  it;  he  did  not  bow.  And  without  another 
word  to  Irgens  she  ran  after  him,  down  the  slope. 
The  wind  blew  her  skirts  to  her  knees;  she  grabbed 
her  hat  with  one  hand  and  ran.  She  caught  up  with 
him  by  the  first  cross-street. 


SIXTYFOLD  247 

He  stopped  and  greeted  her  as  usual — awkwardly, 
with  an  expression  of  melancholy  gladness,  moved 
in  every  fibre  of  his  being.  He  was  miserably  dressed. 

"You —  You  must  not  come  here  and  spy  on 
me,"  she  said  hoarsely,  all  out  of  breath.  She  stood 
before  him,  breathing  hard,  angry,  with  flashing 
eyes. 

His  lips  parted  but  he  could  not  speak;  he  did 
not  know  which  way  to  turn. 

"Do  you  hear  me?" 

"Yes —  Have  you  been  sick,  perhaps?  You 
haven't  been  out  for  two  weeks  now;  of  course,  I 
don't  know  that  you  haven't,  but " 

His  helpless  words,  his  wretched  embarrassment, 
moved  her;  her  anger  died  down,  she  was  again  on 
the  verge  of  tears,  and,  deeply  humiliated,  she  said: 

"Dear  Coldevin,  forgive  me!" 

She  asked  him  to  forgive  her!  He  did  not  know 
what  to  say  to  this,  but  answered  abstractedly: 

"Forgive  you?  We  won't  speak  about  that — 
But  why  are  you  crying?  I  wish  I  hadn't  met 
you " 

"But  I  am  glad  I  met  you,"  she  said.  "I  wanted 
to  meet  you;  I  think  of  you  always,  but  I  never 
see  you —  I  long  for  you  often." 

"Well,  we  won't  speak  about  that,  Miss  Aagot. 
You  know  we  have  settled  our  affair.  I  can  only 
wish  you  every  happiness,  every  possible  happiness." 

Coldevin  had  apparently  regained  his  self-control ; 


248  SHALLOW  SOIL 

he  commenced  even  to  speak  about  indifferent  mat- 
ters: Was  not  this  a  fearful  storm?  God  knew 
how  the  ships  on  the  high  seas  were  faring! 

She  listened  and  answered.  His  composure  had 
its  effect  on  her,  and  she  said  quietly: 

"So  you  are  still  in  the  city.  I  shall  not  ask  you 
to  come  and  see  me;  that  would  be  useless.  Ole 
and  I  both  wanted  to  ask  you  to  come  with  us  on  a 
little  excursion,  but  you  could  not  be  found." 

"I  have  seen  Mr.  Henriksen  since  then.  I  ex- 
plained that  I  was  engaged  that  Sunday  anyway. 
I  was  at  a  party,  a  little  dinner —  So  everything  is 
well  with  you?" 

"Yes,  thanks." 

Again  she  was  seized  with  fear.  What  if  he  had 
been  in  the  park  and  seen  everything?  She  said  as 
indifferently  as  she  could:  "See  how  the  trees  are 
swaying  in  the  park!  I  suppose,  though,  there  must 
be  sheltered  places  inside." 

"In  the  park?  I  don't  know.  I  haven't  been 
there —  But  your  escort  is  waiting  for  you;  isn't 
it  Irgens?" 

Thank  God,  she  was  saved !  He  had  not  been  in 
the  park.  She  heard  nothing  else.  Irgens  was  get- 
ting tired  of  this  waiting,  but  she  did  not  care.  She 
turned  again  to  Coldevin. 

"So  you  have  seen  Ole  since  the  excursion?  I 
wonder  why  he  hasn't  mentioned  it  to  me." 

"Oh,  he  cannot  remember  everything.     He  has  a 


SIXTYFOLD  249 

lot  to  think  of,  Miss  Aagot;  a  great  deal.  He  is 
at  the  head  of  a  big  business;  I  was  really  surprised 
when  I  saw  how  big  it  is.  Wonderful!  A  man  like 
him  must  be  excused  if  he  forgets  a  little  thing  like 
that.  If  you  would  permit  me  to  say  a  word,  he 
loves  you  better  than  anybody  else!  He —  Please 
remember  that!  I  wanted  so  much  to  say  this  to 
you!" 

These  few  words  flew  straight  to  her  heart.  In  a 
flash  she  saw  the  image  of  Ole,  and  she  exclaimed 
joyously: 

"Yes,  it  is  true!  Oh,  when  I  think  of  every- 
thing—  I  am  coming!"  she  called  to  Irgens  and 
waved  her  hand  at  him. 

She  said  good-bye  to  Coldevin  and  left  him. 

She  seemed  to  be  in  a  great  hurry;  she  asked 
Irgens  to  pardon  her  for  having  kept  him  waiting, 
but  she  walked  on  rapidly. 

"Why  this  sudden  haste?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  I  must  get  home.    What  a  nasty  wind!" 

"Aagot!" 

She  shot  him  a  swift  glance;  his  voice  had  trem- 
bled; she  felt  a  warm  glow  throughout  her  being. 
No,  she  couldn't  make  herself  colder  than  she  was; 
her  eyes  drooped  again  and  she  leaned  toward  him; 
her  arm  brushed  his  sleeve. 

He  spoke  her  name  again  with  infinite  tenderness, 
and  she  yielded. 

"Give  me  a  little  time,  please!    Whatever  shall  I 


250  SHALLOW  SOIL 

do?  I  will  love  you  if  you  will  only  let  me  alone 
now." 

He  was  silent. 

Finally  they  reached  the  last  crossing.  Ole  Hen- 
riksen's  house  could  be  seen  in  the  distance.  The 
sight  of  that  house  seemed  to  bring  her  to  her  senses. 
Whatever  could  she  have  said?  Had  she  promised 
anything?  No,  no,  nothing!  And  she  said  with 
averted  eyes: 

"That  which  has  happened  to-day — your  having 
kissed  me —  I  regret  it;  God  knows  I  do!  I  grieve 
over  it " 

"Then  pronounce  the  sentence!"  he  answered 
briskly. 

"No,  I  cannot  punish  you,  but  I  give  you  my 
hand  in  promise  that  I  will  tell  Ole  if  you  ever  dare 
do  that  again." 

And  she  gave  him  her  hand. 

He  took  it,  pressed  it;  he  bent  over  it,  and  kissed 
it  repeatedly,  defiantly,  right  below  her  own  windows. 
Covered  with  confusion,  she  finally  succeeded  in 
opening  the  door  and  escaping  up  the  stairs. 


OLE  HENRIKSEN  received  a  telegram  which  has- 
tened his  departure  for  London.  For  twenty-four 
hours  he  worked  like  a  slave  to  get  through — wrote 
and  arranged,  called  at  the  banks,  instructed  his 
clerks,  gave  orders  to  his  chief  assistant,  who  was  to 
be  in  charge  during  his  absence.  The  Hull  steamer 
was  loading;  it  was  to  sail  in  a  couple  of  hours. 
Ole  Henriksen  did  not  have  any  too  much  tune. 

Aagot  went  with  him  from  place  to  place,  sad 
and  faithful.  She  was  labouring  under  suppressed 
emotion.  She  did  not  say  a  word  so  as  not  to  dis- 
turb him,  but  she  looked  at  him  all  the  tune  with 
moist  eyes.  They  had  arranged  that  she  should  go 
home  the  next  morning  on  the  first  train. 

Old  Henriksen  shuffled  back  and  forth,  quiet 
and  silent;  he  knew  that  his  son  needed  to  hurry. 
Every  once  in  a  while  a  man  would  come  up  from 
the  dock  with  reports  from  the  steamer;  now  there 
was  only  a  shipment  of  whale-oil  to  load,  then  she 
would  start.  It  would  take  about  three-quarters  of 
an  hour.  At  last  Ole  was  ready  to  say  farewell. 
Aagot  only  had  to  put  on  her  wraps;  she  would 
stay  with  him  to  the  last. 

251 


252  SHALLOW  SOIL 

"What  are  you  thinking  of,  Aagot?" 

"Oh,  nothing.  But  I  wish  you  were  well  back 
again,  Ole." 

"Silly  little  girl!  I  am  only  going  to  London," 
he  said,  forcing  a  gaiety  he  did  not  feel.  "Don't 
you  worry!  I  shall  be  back  in  no  time."  He  put 
his  arm  around  her  waist  and  caressed  her;  he  gave 
her  the  usual  pet  names:  Little  Mistress,  dear  little 
Mistress!  A  whistle  sounded;  Ole  glanced  at  his 
watch;  he  had  fifteen  minutes  left.  He  had  to  see 
Tidemand  a  moment. 

As  soon  as  he  entered  Tidemand's  office  he  said: 
"I  am  going  to  London.  I  want  you  to  come  over 
occasionally  and  give  the  old  man  a  lift.  Won't 
you?" 

"Certainly,"  said  Tidemand.  "Are  you  not 
going  to  sit  down,  Miss  Aagot?  For  you  are  not 
departing,  I  hope?" 

"Yes,  to-morrow,"  answered  Aagot. 

Ole  happened  to  think  of  the  last  quotations. 
Rye  was  going  up  again.  He  congratulated  his 
friend  warmly. 

Yes,  prices  were  better;  the  Russian  crops  hadn't 
quite  come  up  to  expectations;  the  rise  was  not 
large,  but  it  meant  a  great  deal  to  Tidemand  with 
his  enormous  stores. 

"Yes,  I  am  keeping  afloat,"  he  said  happily,  "and 
I  can  thank  you  for  that.  Yes,  I  can — "  And  he 
told  them  that  he  was  busy  with  a  turn  in  tar. 


SIXTYFOLD  253 

He  had  contracts  from  a  house  in  Bilbao.  "But 
we  will  talk  about  this  when  you  get  back.  Bon 
voyage!" 

"If  anything  happens,  wire  me,"  said  Ole. 

Tidemand  followed  the  couple  to  his  door.  Both 
Ole  and  Aagot  were  moved.  He  went  to  the  win- 
dow and  waved  to  them  as  they  passed;  then  he 
went  back  to  his  desk  and  worked  away  with  books 
and  papers.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  passed.  He  saw 
Aagot  return  alone;  Ole  had  gone. 

Tidemand  paced  back  and  forth,  mumbling,  fig- 
uring, calculating  every  contingency  regarding  this 
business  in  tar.  He  happened  to  see  a  long  entry 
in  the  ledger  which  was  lying  open  on  his  desk.  It 
was  Irgens's  account.  Tidemand  glanced  at  it  in- 
differently; old  loans,  bad  debts,  wine  and  loans, 
wine  and  cash.  The  entries  were  dated  several  years 
back;  there  were  none  during  the  last  year.  Irgens 
had  never  made  any  payments;  the  credit  column 
was  clean.  Tidemand  still  remembered  how  Irgens 
used  to  joke  about  his  debts.  He  did  not  conceal 
that  he  owed  his  twenty  thousand;  he  admitted  it 
with  open  and  smiling  face.  What  could  he  do? 
He  had  to  live.  It  was  deplorable  that  circum- 
stances forced  him  into  such  a  position.  He  wished 
it  were  different  and  he  would  have  been  sincerely 
grateful  if  anybody  had  come  along  and  paid  his 
debts,  but  so  far  nobody  had  offered  to  do  that. 
Well,  he  would  say,  that  could  not  be  helped;  he 


254  SHALLOW  SOIL 

would  have  to  carry  his  own  burdens.  Fortunately, 
most  of  his  creditors  were  people  with  sufficient  cul- 
ture and  delicacy  to  appreciate  his  position;  they 
did  not  like  to  dun  him;  they  respected  his  talent. 
But  occasionally  it  would  happen  that  a  tailor  or  a 
wine-dealer  would  send  him  a  bill  and  as  like  as  not 
spoil  an  exquisite  mood.  He  simply  must  open  his 
door  whenever  anybody  knocked,  even  if  he  were  just 
composing  some  rare  poem.  He  had  to  answer,  to  ex- 
postulate: What,  another  bill?  Well,  put  it  there, 
and  I  will  look  at  it  some  time  when  I  need  a  piece 
of  paper.  Oh,  it  is  receipted?  Well,  then  I  will 
have  to  refuse  to  accept  it;  I  never  have  receipted 
bills  lying  round.  Take  it  back  with  my  compli- 
ments. .  .  . 

Tidemand  walked  back  and  forth.  An  associa- 
tion of  ideas  made  him  think  of  Hanka  and  the 
divorce.  God  knows  what  she  was  waiting  for;  she 
kept  to  herself  and  spent  all  her  time  with  the  chil- 
dren, sewing  slips  and  dresses  all  day  long.  He  had 
met  her  on  the  stairs  once;  she  was  carrying  some 
groceries  in  a  bundle;  she  had  stepped  aside  and 
muttered  an  excuse.  They  had  not  spoken  to  each 
other. 

What  could  she  be  thinking  of?  He  did  not  want 
to  drive  her  away,  but  this  could  not  continue.  He 
was  at  a  loss  to  understand  why  she  took  her  meals 
at  home;  she  never  went  to  a  restaurant.  Dear 
me,  perhaps  she  had  no  more  money!  He  had  sent 


SIXTYFOLD  255 

the  maid  to  her  once  with  a  couple  of  hundred 
crowns — they  could  not  last  for  ever!  He  glanced 
in  his  calendar  and  noticed  that  it  was  nearly  a 
month  since  he  had  had  that  settlement  with  Hanka; 
her  money  must  have  been  used  up  long  ago.  She 
had  probably  even  bought  things  for  the  children 
with  that  money. 

Tidemand  grew  hot  all  of  a  sudden.  At  least  she 
should  never  lack  anything;  thank  God,  one  wasn't 
a  pauper  exactly!  He  took  out  all  the  money  he 
could  spare,  left  the  office,  and  went  up-stairs.  The 
maid  told  him  that  Hanka  was  in  her  own  little 
room,  the  middle  room  facing  the  -street.  It  was 
four  o'clock. 

He  knocked  and  entered. 

Hanka  sat  at  the  table,  eating.     She  rose  quickly. 

"Oh — I  thought  it  was  the  maid,"  she  stammered. 
Her  face  coloured  and  she  glanced  uneasily  at  the 
table.  She  began  to  clear  away,  to  place  napkins 
over  the  dishes.  She  moved  the  chairs  and  said 
again  and  again:  "I  did  not  know — everything  is  so 
upset 

But  he  asked  her  to  excuse  his  abrupt  entrance. 
He  only  wanted  to — she  must  have  been  in  need  of 
money,  of  course  she  must;  it  couldn't  be  otherwise; 
he  wouldn't  hear  any  more  about  it.  Here — he  had 
brought  a  little  for  her  present  needs.  And  he  placed 
the  envelope  on  the  table. 

She  refused  to  accept  it.    She  had  plenty  of  money 


256  SHALLOW  SOIL 

left.  She  took  out  the  last  two  hundred  crowns  he 
had  sent  her  and  showed  him  the  bills.  She  even 
wanted  to  return  them. 

He  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  He  noticed  that 
her  left  hand  was  without  the  ring.  He  frowned 
and  asked: 

"What  has  become  of  your  ring,  Hanka?" 

"It  isn't  the  one  you  gave  me,"  she  answered 
quickly.  "It  is  the  other  one.  That  doesn't  mat- 
ter." ' 

"I  did  not  know  you  had  been  obliged  to  do  that, 
or  I  would  long  ago— 

"But  I  was  not  obliged  to  do  it;  I  wanted  to. 
You  see  I  have  plenty  of  money.  But  it  does 
not  matter  in  the  least,  for  I  still  have  your 
ring." 

"Well,  whether  it  is  my  ring  or  not,  you  have  not 
done  me  a  favour  by  this.  I  want  you  to  keep 
your  things.  I  am  not  so  altogether  down  and  out, 
even  if  I  have  had  to  let  some  of  my  help  go." 

She  bowed  her  head.  He  walked  over  to  the 
window;  when  he  turned  back  he  noticed  that  she 
was  looking  at  him;  her  eyes  were  candid  and  open. 
He  grew  confused  and  turned  his  back  to  her  again. 
No,  he  could  not  speak  to  her  of  moving  now;  let 
her  stay  on  awhile  if  she  wanted  to.  But  he  would 
at  least  try  to  persuade  her  to  cease  this  strange  man- 
ner of  living;  there  was  no  sense  in  that;  besides, 
she  was  getting  thin  and  pale. 


SIXTYFOLD  257 

"Don't  be  offended,  but  ought  you  not —  Not 
for  my  sake,  of  course,  but  for  your  own " 

"Yes,  I  know,"  she  interrupted,  afraid  of  let- 
ting him  finish;  "time  passes,  and  I  haven't  moved 
yet." 

He  forgot  what  he  intended  to  say  about  her 
housekeeping  eccentricities;  he  caught  only  her  last 
words. 

"I  cannot  understand  you.  You  have  had  your 
way;  nothing  binds  you  any  more.  You  can  be 
Hanka  Lange  now  as  much  as  you  like;  you  surely 
know  that  I  am  not  holding  you  back." 

"No,"  she  answered.  She  rose  and  took  a  step 
toward  him.  She  held  out  her  hand  to  him  in  a 
meaningless  way,  and  when  he  did  not  take  it,  she 
dropped  it  to  her  side  limply,  with  burning  cheeks. 
She  sank  into  her  chair  again. 

"No,  you  are  not  holding  me  back —  I  wanted 
to  ask  you —  Of  course,  I  have  no  right  to  expect 
that  you  will  let  me,  but  if  you  would — if  I  could 
remain  here  awhile  yet?  I  would  not  be  as  I  was 
before — I  have  changed  a  good  deal,  and  so  have 
you.  I  cannot  say  what  I  want  to " 

His  eyes  blurred  suddenly.  What  did  she  mean? 
For  a  moment  he  faltered;  then  he  buttoned  his 
coat  and  straightened  his  shoulders.  Had  he,  then, 
suffered  in  vain  during  all  these  weary  days  and 
nights?  Hardly!  He  would  prove  it  now.  Hanka 
was  sitting  there,  but  evidently  she  was  beside  her- 


258  SHALLOW  SOIL 

self;  he  had  excited  her  by  calling  on  her  so  unex- 
pectedly. 

"Don't  excite  yourself,  Hanka.  Perhaps  you  are 
saying  what  you  do  not  mean." 

A  bright,  irrepressible  hope  flamed  up  within  her. 

"Yes,"  she  exclaimed,  "I  mean  every  word!  Oh, 
if  you  could  forget  what  I  have  been,  Andreas?  If 
you  would  only  have  pity  on  me!  Take  me  back; 
be  merciful!  I  have  wanted  to  come  back  for  more 
than  a  month  now,  come  back  to  you  and  to  the 
children;  I  have  stood  here  behind  the  curtains  and 
watched  you  when  you  went  out!  The  first  time  I 
really  saw  you  was  that  night  on  the  yacht — do  you 
remember?  I  had  never  seen  you  until  then.  You 
stood  by  the  tiller.  I  saw  you  against  the  sky;  your 
hair  was  a  little  grey  around  the  temples.  I  was  so 
surprised  when  I  saw  you.  I  asked  you  if  you  were 
cold.  I  did  it  so  you  would  speak  to  me!  I  know 
— time  passed,  but  during  all  these  weeks  I  have 
seen  nobody  but  you — nobody!  I  am  four  and 
twenty  years  old,  and  have  never  felt  like  this  be- 
fore. Everything  you  do,  everything  you  say — 
And  everything  the  little  ones  do  and  say.  We 
play  and  laugh,  they  cling  to  my  neck.  ...  I 
follow  you  with  my  eyes.  See,  I  have  cut  a  little 
hole  in  the  curtain  so  that  I  can  see  you  better.  I 
can  see  you  all  the  way  to  the  end  of  the  street.  I 
can  tell  your  steps  whenever  you  walk  down-stairs. 
Punish  me,  make  me  suffer,  but  do  not  cast  me  off! 


SIXTYFOLD  259 

Simply  to  be  here  gives  me  a  thousand  joys,  and  I 
am  altogether  different  now " 

She  could  hardly  stop;  she  continued  to  speak 
hysterically;  at  times  her  voice  was  choked  with 
emotion.  She  rose  from  the  chair.  She  smiled 
while  the  tears  rained  down  her  face.  Her  voice 
trailed  off  into  inarticulate  sounds. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  be  calm!"  he  exclaimed 
abruptly,  and  his  own  tears  were  falling  as  he 
spoke.  His  face  twitched.  He  was  furious  be- 
cause he  could  not  control  himself  better.  He 
stood  there  and  snapped  out  his  words.  He  could 
not  find  the  ones  he  sought.  "You  could  always 
make  me  do  whatever  you  wanted.  I  am  not  very 
clever  when  it  comes  to  bandying  words,  no,  indeed ! 
The  clique  knows  how  to  talk,  but  I  haven't  learned 
the  art —  Forgive  me,  I  did  not  mean  to  hurt  you. 
But  if  you  mean  that  you  want  me  to  take  some- 
body else's  place  now —  If  you  want  me  as  a  suc- 
cessor—  Of  course,  I  do  not  know,  but  I  ask. 
You  say  you  want  to  come  back  now.  But  how 
do  you  come  back?  Oh,  I  don't  want  to  know; 
go  in  God's  name!" 

"No,  you  are  right—  I  simply  wanted  to  ask 
you — I  had  to.  I  have  been  unfaithful  to  you, 
yes.  I  have  done  everything  I  shouldn't  do,  every- 
thing  " 

"Well,  let  us  end  this  scene.  You  need  rest 
more  than  anything  else." 


260  SHALLOW  SOIL 

Tidemand  walked  to  the  door.  She  followed  him 
with  wide-open  eyes. 

"Punish  me!"  she  cried.  "I  ask  you  to — have 
pity!  I  should  be  grateful  to  you.  Don't  leave  me, 
I  cannot  bear  to  have  you  go!  Do  not  cast  me  off; 
I  have  been  unfaithful  and —  But  try  me  once 
more;  try  me  only  a  little!  Do  you  think  I  might 
remain  here?  I  don't  know 

He  opened  the  door.  She  stood  still,  her  eyes 
dilated.  From  them  shone  the  great  question. 

"Why  do  you  look  at  me  like  that?  What  do 
you  want  me  to  do?"  he  asked.  "Come  to  your 
senses.  Do  not  brood  over  the  past.  I  will  do  all 
I  can  for  the  children.  I  think  that  is  all  you  can 
reasonably  ask." 

Then  she  gave  up.  She  stretched  her  arms  out 
after  him  as  the  door  closed.  She  heard  his  steps 
down  the  stairs.  He  paused  a  moment  as  if  uncer- 
tain which  way  to  take.  Hanka  ran  to  the  win- 
dow, but  she  heard  his  office  door  open.  Then  all 
was  quiet. 

Too  late!  How  could  she  have  expected  other- 
wise? Good  God,  how  could  she  have  expected 
otherwise!  How  she  had  nourished  that  vain  hope 
night  and  day  for  a  whole  month!  He  had  gone; 
he  said  no,  and  he  went  away.  Most  likely  he  even 
objected  to  her  staying  with  the  children! 

Mrs.  Hanka  moved  the  following  day.  She  took 
a  room  she  saw  advertised  in  the  paper,  the  first 


SIXTYFOLD  261 

room  she  came  across;  it  was  near  the  Fortress. 
She  left  home  in  the  morning  while  Tidemand  was 
out.  She  kissed  the  children  and  wept.  She  put 
her  keys  hi  an  envelope  and  wrote  a  line  to  her 
husband.  Tidemand  found  it  upon  his  return; 
found  the  keys  and  this  farewell,  which  was  only  a 
line  or  two. 

Tidemand  went  out  again.  He  sauntered  through 
the  streets,  down  toward  the  harbour.  He  followed 
the  docks  far  out.  A  couple  of  hours  went  by, 
then  he  returned  the  same  way.  He  looked  at  his 
watch;  it  was  one  o'clock.  Suddenly  he  ran  across 
Coldevin. 

Coldevin  stood  immovable  behind  a  corner  and 
showed  only  his  head.  When  he  saw  Tidemand 
coming  straight  toward  him  he  stepped  out  in  the 
street  and  bowed. 

Tidemand  looked  up  abstractedly. 

And  Coldevin  asked: 

"Pardon  me,  isn't  this  Mr.  Irgens  I  see  down 
there — that  gentleman  in  grey?" 

"Where?  Oh,  yes,  it  looks  like  him,"  answered 
Tidemand  indifferently. 

"And  the  lady  who  is  with  him,  isn't  that  Miss 
Lynum?" 

"Perhaps  it  is.    Yes,  I  fancy  that  is  she." 

"But  wasn't  she  going  away  to-day?  It  seems  to 
me  I  heard —  Perhaps  she  has  changed  her  mind?" 

"I  suppose  she  has." 


262 


SHALLOW  SOIL 


Coldevin  glanced  swiftly  at  him.  Tidemand 
looked  as  if  he  did  not  want  to  be  disturbed.  He 
excused  himself  politely  and  walked  off,  lost  in 
thought. 


VI 

No,  Aagot  did  not  go  away  as  had  been  arranged. 
It  occurred  to  her  that  she  ought  to  buy  a  few 
things  for  her  smaller  sisters  and  brothers.  It  was 
quite  amusing  to  go  around  and  look  at  the  store 
windows  all  alone;  she  did  that  all  the  afternoon, 
and  it  was  six  when  at  last  she  was  through  and 
happened  to  meet  Irgens  on  the  street.  He  relieved 
her  of  her  parcels  and  went  with  her.  Finally  they 
hailed  a  carriage  and  took  a  ride  out  hi  the  country. 
It  was  a  mild  and  quiet  evening. 

No,  she  must  not  go  away  to-morrow.  What 
good  would  that  do?  One  day  more  or  less  didn't 
matter.  And  Irgens  confessed  frankly  that  he  was 
not  very  flush  at  present,  or  he  would  have  accom- 
panied her.  ...  If  not  in  the  same  compartment, 
at  least  on  the  same  train.  He  wanted  to  be  near 
her  to  the  very  last.  But  he  was  too  poor,  alas! 

Wasn't  it  a  crying  shame  that  a  man  like  him 
should  be  so  hard  up?  Not  that  she  would  have 
allowed  him  to  come,  but  .  .  .  How  it  impressed 
her  that  he  so  frankly  told  her  of  his  poverty! 

"Besides,  I  am  not  sure  that  my  life  is  safe  here 

263 


264  SHALLOW  SOIL 

any  more,"  he  said  smilingly.  "Did  you  tell  my 
friend  Ole  how  I  acted?" 

"It  is  never  too  late  to  do  that,"  she  said. 

They  told  the  driver  to  stop.  They  walked  ahead, 
talking  gaily  and  happily.  He  asked  her  to  forgive 
him  his  rashness — not  that  he  wanted  her  to  think 
that  he  had  forgotten  her,  or  could  forget  her. 

"I  love  you,"  he  confessed,  "but  I  know  it  is 
useless.  I  have  now  one  thing  left — my  pen.  I  may 
write  a  verse  or  two  to  you;  you  must  not  be  angry 
if  I  do.  Well,  tune  will  tell.  In  a  hundred  years 
everything  will  be  forgotten." 

"I  am  powerless  to  change  anything,"  she  said. 

"No,  you  are  not.  It  depends,  of  course—  At 
least,  there  is  nobody  else  who  can."  And  he 
added  quickly:  "You  told  me  to  give  you  a 
little  time,  you  asked  me  to  wait — what  did  you 
mean  by  that?" 

"Nothing,"  she  answered. 

They  walked  on.  They  came  into  a  field.  Irgens 
spoke  entertainingly  about  the  far,  blue,  pine-clad 
ridges,  about  a  tethered  horse,  a  workingman  who 
was  making  a  fence.  Aagot  was  grateful;  she  knew 
he  did  this  in  order  to  maintain  his  self-control; 
she  appreciated  it.  He  even  said  with  a  shy  smile 
that  if  she  would  not  think  him  affected  he  would 
like  to  jot  down  a  couple  of  stanzas  which  just  now 
occurjed  to  him.  And  he  jotted  down  the  couple  of 
stanzas. 


SIXTYFOLD  265 

She  wanted  to  see  what  he  wrote.  She  bent  to- 
ward him  and  asked  him  laughingly  to  let  her  see. 

If  she  really  wanted  to!  It  was  nothing  much, 
though. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "when  you  bent  to- 
ward me  and  your  head  was  so  close  to  me,  I  prayed 
in  my  heart  that  you  would  remain  like  that!  That 
is  the  reason  I  first  refused  to  let  you  see  what  I 
had  written." 

"Irgens,"  she  said  suddenly,  in  a  tender  voice, 
"what  would  happen  if  I  said  yes  to  you?" 

Pause.    They  looked  at  each  other. 

"Then  it  would  happen,  of  course,  that — that 
you  would  say  no  to  another." 

"Yes — but  it  is  too  late  now,  too  late!  It  is  not 
to  be  considered —  But  if  it  is  any  comfort  to  you 
to  know  it,  then  I  can  say  that  you  are  not  the 
only  one  to  grieve " 

He  took  this  beautifully.  He  seized  her  hand 
and  pressed  it  silently,  with  a  happy  glance,  and  he 
let  it  go  at  once. 

They  walked  along  the  road.  They  had  never 
been  closer  to  each  other.  When  they  reached  the 
new  fence  the  workman  took  off  his  cap.  They 
stopped  before  a  gate;  they  looked  at  each  other 
a  .moment  and  turned  back.  They  did  not  speak. 

They  came  back  to  the  carriage.  During  the 
drive  Irgens  held  all  Aagot's  bundles  in  his  arms. 
He  did  not  move  and  was  not  in  the  least  insistent. 


266  SHALLOW  SOIL 

She  was  really  touched  by  his  tactful  behaviour, 
and  when  he  finally  asked  her  to  stay  another  day 
she  consented. 

But  when  the  carriage  had  to  be  paid  for  he 
searched  his  pockets  in  vain;  at  last  he  had  to 
ask  her  to  pay  the  driver  herself.  She  was  pleased 
to  be  able  to  do  that;  she  only  wished  she  had 
thought  of  it  at  once.  He  had  looked  quite  crest- 
fallen. 

They  met  each  other  early  the  next  day.  They 
walked  along  the  docks,  talking  together  in  low 
voices,  trembling  with  suppressed  feeling.  Their 
eyes  were  full  of  caresses;  they  walked  close  to  each 
other.  When,  finally,  Irgens  caught  sight  of  Col- 
devin  standing  half  hidden  behind  a  corner,  he  did 
not  mention  his  discovery  with  a  single  syllable  in 
order  not  to  distress  her.  He  said  simply: 

"What  a  pity  you  and  I  are  not  ordinary  work- 
ing people  now!  We  seem  to  attract  attention; 
people  are  for  ever  staring  at  us.  It  would  be  pref- 
erable to  be  less  prominent." 

They  spoke  about  seeing  each  other  at  the  Grand 
in  the  evening.  It  was  quite  a  while  since  she  had 
been  there;  she  had  really  had  few  pleasures  of  late. 
Suddenly  he  said: 

"Come  and  go  up  to  my  place.  There  we  can 
sit  and  talk  in  peace  and  quiet." 

"But  would  that  do?" 

Why  not?    In  broad  daylight?    There  was  abso- 


SIXTYFOLD  267 

lutely  no  reason  why  she  shouldn't.    And  he  would 
always,  always  have  the  memory  of  her  visit  to 
treasure. 
And  she  went  with  him,  timid,  fearful,  but  happy. 


FINALE 


FINALE 


~\/f ILDE  and  Gregersen  walked  down  the  street 
together.  They  talked  about  Milde's  por- 
trait of  Paulsberg  which  had  been  bought  by  the 
National  Galleries;  about  the  Actor  Norem,  who, 
together  with  a  comrade,  had  been  found  drunk  in 
a  gutter  and  had  been  arrested;  about  Mrs.  Hanka, 
who  was  said  at  last  to  have  left  her  husband.  Was 
anything  else  to  be  expected?  Hadn't  she  endured 
it  for  four  long  years  down  in  that  shop?  They 
asked  each  other  for  her  address;  they  wanted  to 
congratulate  her;  she  must  know  that  they  fully 
sympathised  with  her.  But  none  of  them  knew  her 
address. 

They  were  deeply  interested  in  the  situation.  It 
had  come  to  this  that  Parliament  had  been  dissolved 
without  having  said  the  deciding  word,  without 
having  said  anything,  in  fact.  The  Gazette  had  ad- 
vised against  radical  action  at  the  last  moment. 
The  paper  had  talked  about  the  seriousness  of  as- 
suming responsibilities,  about  the  unwisdom  of  a 

straightforward  challenge. 

271 


272  SHALLOW  SOIL 

"What  the  devil  can  we  do — with  our  army  and 
navy?"  said  Gregersen  with  deep  conviction.  "We 
shall  simply  have  to  wait." 

They  went  into  the  Grand.  Ojen  was  there  with 
his  two  close-cropped  poets.  He  was  speaking  about 
his  latest  prose  poems:  "A  Sleeping  City,"  "Pop- 
pies," "The  Tower  of  Babel."  Imagine  the  Tower 
of  Babel — its  architecture!  And  with  a  nervous 
gesture  he  drew  a  spiral  in  the  air. 

Paulsberg  and  his  wife  arrived;  they  moved  the 
tables  together  and  formed  a  circle.  Milde  stood 
treat;  he  still  had  money  left  from  the  first  half  of 
the  subsidy.  Paulsberg  attacked  Gregersen  at  once 
because  of  the  Gazette's  change  of  front.  Hadn't 
he  himself,  a  short  time  ago,  written  a  rather  pointed 
article  in  the  paper?  Had  they  entirely  forgotten 
that?  How  could  he  reconcile  this  with  their  pres- 
ent attitude?  It  would  soon  be  a  disgrace  for  an 
honest  man  to  see  his  name  in  that  sheet.  Pauls- 
berg was  indignant  and  said  so  without  mincing 
words. 

Gregersen  had  no  defence.  He  simply  answered 
that  the  Gazette  had  fully  explained  its  position,  had 
given  reasons.  .  .  . 

"What  kind  of  reasons?"  Paulsberg  would 
show  them  how  shallow  they  were.  "Waiter,  the 
Gazette  for  to-day!" 

While  they  waited  for  the  paper  even  Milde  ven- 
tured to  say  that  the  reasons  were  anything  but 


FINALE  273 

convincing.  They  consisted  of  vague  vapourings 
about  the  easterly  boundary,  the  unpreparedness  of 
the  army,  even  mentioning  foreign  intervention.  .  .  . 

"And  fifteen  minutes  ago  you  yourself  agreed  with 
the  Gazette  unqualifiedly,"  said  Gregersen. 

Paulsberg  commenced  reading  from  the  Gazette, 
paragraph  after  paragraph.  He  laughed  maliciously. 
Wasn't  it  great  to  hear  a  paper  like  the  Gazette  men- 
tion the  word  responsibility?  And  Paulsberg  threw 
the  paper  aside  in  disgust.  No;  there  ought  to  be 
at  least  a  trace  of  honesty  in  our  national  life! 
This  sacrifice  of  principle  for  the  sake  of  expediency 
was  degrading,  to  say  the  least. 

Grande  and  Norem  entered,  with  Coldevin  be- 
tween them.  Coldevin  was  talking.  He  nodded  to 
the  others  and  finished  what  he  was  saying  before 
he  paused.  The  Attorney,  this  peculiar  nonentity, 
who  neither  said  nor  did  anything  himself,  took  a 
wicked  pleasure  in  listening  to  this  uncouth  per- 
son from  the  backwoods.  He  had  happened  upon 
Coldevin  far  up  in  Thranes  Road;  he  had  spoken 
to  him,  and  Coldevin  had  said  that  he  was  going 
away  soon,  perhaps  to-morrow.  He  was  going  back 
to  Torahus;  he  was  mainly  going  in  order  to  resign 
his  position;  he  had  accepted  a  situation  farther 
north.  But  in  that  case  Grande  had  insisted  that 
they  empty  a  glass  together,  and  Coldevin  had 
finally  come  along.  They  had  met  Norem  outside. 

Coldevin,  too,  spoke  about  the  situation;   he  ac- 


274  SHALLOW  SOIL 

cused  the  young  because  they  had  remained  silent 
and  accepted  this  last  indignity  without  a  protest. 
God  help  us,  what  kind  of  a  youth  was  that?  Was 
our  youth,  then,  entirely  decadent? 

"It  looks  bad  for  us  again,"  said  Milde  in  a  stage 
whisper. 

Paulsberg  smiled. 

"You  will  have  to  grin  and  bear  it —  Let  us  get 
toward  home,  Nikoline.  I  am  not  equal  to  this." 

And  Paulsberg  and  his  wife  left. 


n 

COLDEVIN  looked  very  shabby  indeed.  He  was 
in  the  same  suit  he  wore  when  he  came  to  town; 
his  hair  and  beard  were  shaggy  and  unkempt. 

The  Journalist  brought  him  over  to  the  table. 
What  did  he  want?  Only  a  glass  of  beer? 

Coldevin  glanced  around  him  indifferently.  It 
would  seem  that  he  had  had  a  hard  time.  He  was 
thin  to  emaciation  and  his  eyes  shone  through  dark, 
shadowy  rings.  He  drank  his  beer  greedily.  He 
even  said  it  was  a  long  time  since  a  glass  of  beer 
had  tasted  better.  Perhaps  he  was  hungry,  too. 

"To  return  to  the  matter  under  discussion,"  said 
the  Attorney.  "One  cannot  affirm  offhand  that  we 
are  floating  on  the  battered  hull.  One  must  not 
forget  to  take  the  young  Norway  into  consideration." 

"No,"  answered  Coldevin,  "one  should  never  af- 
firm anything  offhand.  One  must  try  to  reach  the 
basic  reason  for  every  condition.  And  this  basic 
reason  might  just  be — as  I  have  said — our  supersti- 
tious faith  in  a  power  which  we  do  not  possess.  We 
have  grown  so  terribly  modest  in  our  demands;  why 
is  it?  Might  this  not  lie  at  the  very  root  of  our 
predicament?  Our  power  is  theoretical;  we  talk,  we 

275 


276  SHALLOW  SOIL 

intoxicate  ourselves  in  words,  but  we  do  not  act. 
The  fancy  of  our  youth  turns  to  literature  and 
clothes;  its  ambition  goes  no  further,  and  it  is  not 
interested  in  other  things.  It  might,  for  instance, 
profitably  take  an  interest  in  our  business  life." 

"Dear  me,  how  you  know  everything!"  sneered 
the  Journalist. 

But  Milde  nudged  him  secretly  and  whispered: 
"Leave  him  alone!  Let  him  talk.  He,  he!  He 
really  believes  what  he  says;  he  trembles  with  eager- 
ness and  conviction.  He  is  a  sight  in  our  day  and 
generation!" 

The  Attorney  asked  him: 

"Have  you  read  Irgens's  latest  book?" 

"Yes,  I  have  read  it.     Why  do  you  ask?" 

"Oh,  simply  because  I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand 
how  you  can  have  such  a  poor  opinion  of  our  youth 
when  you  know  its  production.  We  have  writers 
of  rank " 

"Yes — but,  on  the  other  hand,  there  is  in  your 
circle  a  young  man  who  has  lost  heavily  in  rye," 
answered  Coldevin.  "I  am  more  interested  in  him. 
Do  you  know  what  this  man  is  doing?  He  is  not 
crushed  or  broken  by  his  loss.  He  is  just  now  creat- 
ing a  new  article  of  export;  he  has  undertaken  to 
supply  a  foreign  enterprise  with  tar,  Norwegian  tar. 
But  you  do  not  mention  his  name." 

"No;  I  must  confess  that  my  knowledge  of  Nor- 
wegian tar  is  limited,  but " 


FINALE  277 

"There  may  be  nothing  lacking  in  your  knowl- 
edge, Mr.  Attorney,  but  you  have  possibly  too  little 
sympathy  for  commerce  and  the  creation  of  values. 
On  the  other  hand,  you  are  thoroughly  up  to  date 
as  far  as  the  sesthetic  occurrences  are  concerned; 
you  have  heard  the  latest  prose  poem.  We  have 
so  many  young  writers;  we  have  Ojen,  and  we  have 
Irgens,  and  we  have  Paulsberg,  and  we  have  many 
more.  That  is  the  young  Norway.  I  see  them  on 
the  streets  occasionally.  They  stalk  past  me  as 
poets  should  stalk  past  ordinary  people.  They  are 
brimful  of  new  intentions,  new  fashions.  They  are 
fragrant  with  perfume — in  brief,  there  is  nothing 
lacking.  When  they  show  up  everybody  else  is 
mute:  'Silence!  The  poet  speaks.'  The  papers  are 
able  to  inform  their  readers  that  Paulsberg  is  on  a 
trip  to  Honefos.  In  a  word " 

But  this  was  too  much  for  Gregersen.  He  him- 
self had  written  the  news  notes  about  Paulsberg's 
trip  to  Honefos.  He  shouted: 

"But  you  have  the  most  infernal  way  of  saying 
insolent  things!  You  look  as  if  you  were  saying 
nothing  of  consequence 

"I  simply  cannot  understand  why  you  lose  your 
temper,"  said  Milde  tranquilly,  "when  Paulsberg 
himself  told  us  to  grin  and  bear  it!" 

Pause. 

"In  a  word,"  resumed  Coldevin,  "the  people  do 
their  duty,  the  papers  do  their  duty.  Our  authors 


278  SHALLOW  SOIL 

are  not  ordinary,  readable  talents;  no,  they  are  flam- 
ing pillars  of  fire;  they  are  being  translated  into 
German!  They  assume  dimensions.  This,  of  course, 
can  be  repeated  so  often  that  people  at  last  believe 
it;  but  such  a  self-delusion  is  very  harmful.  It  makes 
us  complacent,  it  perpetuates  our  insignificance." 

Gregersen  plays  a  trump  card: 

"But  tell  me,  you — I  don't  remember  your  name: 
— do  you  know  the  story  of  Vinje  and  the  potato? 
I  always  think  of  that  when  I  hear  you  speak.  You 
are  so  immensely  unsophisticated;  you  are  from  the 
country,  and  you  think  you  can  amaze  us.  You 
have  not  the  slightest  suspicion  that  your  opinions 
are  somewhat  antiquated.  Your  opinions  are  those 
of  the  self-taught  man.  Once  Vinje  began  to  pon- 
der over  the  ring  in  a  newly  cut,  raw  potato;  being 
from  the  country,  you,  at  least,  must  know  that 
there  in  springtime,  often,  is  a  purple  figure  in  a 
potato.  And  Vinje  was  so  interested  in  this  purple 
outline  that  he  sat  down  and  wrote  a  mathematical 
thesis  about  it.  He  took  this  to  Fearnley  in  the 
fond  belief  that  he  had  made  a  great  discovery. 
'This  is  very  fine/  said  Fearnley;  'it  is  perfectly 
correct.  You  have  solved  the  problem.  But  the 
Egyptians  knew  this  two  thousand  years  ago— 
They  knew  it  ages  ago,  ha,  ha,  ha!  And  I  am  al- 
ways reminded  of  this  story  when  I  hear  you  speak! 
Don't  be  offended,  now!" 

Pause. 


FINALE  279 

"No,  I  am  not  offended  in  the  least,"  said  Colde- 
vin.  "But  if  I  understand  you  correctly,  then  we 
agree.  I  am  only  saying  what  you  already  know?" 

But  Gregersen  shook  his  head  in  despair  and 
turned  to  Milde. 

"He  is  impossible,"  he  said.  He  emptied  his 
glass  and  spoke  again  to  Coldevin,  spoke  in  a  louder 
voice  than  necessary;  he  bent  toward  him  and 
shouted:  "For  Heaven's  sake,  man,  don't  you  un- 
derstand that  your  opinions  are  too  absurd — the 
opinions  of  the  self-taught  man?  You  think  that 
what  you  say  is  news  to  us.  We  have  heard  it  for 
ages;  we  know  it,  and  we  think  it  ridiculous.  Isch! 
I  don't  want  to  talk  to  you!" 

And  Gregersen  got  up  and  walked  unsteadily 
away.  It  was  six  o'clock.  The  three  men  who 
remained  at  the  table  sat  silently  a  few  moments. 
At  last  Coldevin  said: 

"There  goes  Journalist  Gregersen.  That  man 
has  my  unqualified  pity  and  sympathy." 

"He  would  hardly  accept  it,"  said  Milde  with  a 
laugh. 

"But  he  cannot  avoid  it.  I  think  often  of  these 
writers  for  the  daily  press,  these  faithful  workers 
who  accomplish  more  in  a  month  than  the  poets 
wring  from  themselves  during  a  year.  They  are 
often  married  men  in  poor  circumstances;  their 
fate  is  not  too  pleasant  at  best.  They  have  prob- 
ably dreamed  about  a  freer  and  richer  life  than  this 


280  SHALLOW  SOIL 

slavery  in  an  office  where  their  best  efforts  are  swal- 
lowed up  in  anonymity,  and  where  they  often  have 
to  repress  themselves  and  their  convictions  in  order 
to  keep  their  jobs.  It  might  be  well  if  these  men 
were  given  the  approbation  they  deserved;  it  might 
even  be  profitable;  it  might  bear  fruit  in  a  free 
and  honest  newspaper  literature.  What  have  we  at 
present?  An  irresponsible  press,  lacking  convic- 
tions and  clearly  defined  principles,  its  policy  dic- 
tated by  personal  preferences — by  even  worse  mo- 
tives. No;  a  truly  great  journalist  ranks  far  higher 
than  a  poet." 

Just  then  the  door  opened  and  Irgens  and  Miss 
Aagot  entered.  They  stopped  by  the  door  and 
looked  around;  Aagot  showed  no  sign  of  embarrass- 
ment, but  when  she  caught  sight  of  Coldevin,  she 
stepped  forward  quickly,  with  a  smile  on  lips  that 
were  already  opened  as  if  to  speak.  Suddenly  she 
stopped.  Coldevin  stared  at  her  and  fumbled  me- 
chanically at  his  buttons. 

This  lasted  a  few  moments.  Irgens  and  Aagot 
went  over  to  the  table,  shook  hands,  and  sat  down. 
Aagot  gave  Coldevin  her  hand.  Milde  wanted  to 
know  what  they  would  have.  He  happened  to  be 
flush.  "Order  anything  you  like " 

"You  come  too  late,"  he  said  smilingly.  "Colde- 
vin has  entertained  us  splendidly." 

Irgens  looked  up.  He  shot  a  swift  glance  at 
Coldevin  and  said,  while  he  lit  a  cigar: 


FINALE  281 

"I  have  enjoyed  Mr.  Coldevin's  entertainment 
once  before  in  Tivoli,  I  believe.  This  will  have  to 
satisfy  me  for  the  present." 

It  was  only  with  difficulty  that  Irgens  succeeded 
in  hiding  his  displeasure.  This  was  the  second  time 
to-day  he  had  seen  Coldevin;  he  had  observed  him 
outside  his  lodgings  in  Thranes  Road  No.  5.  He  had 
not  been  able  to  get  Aagot  out  until  this  infernal 
fellow  had  disappeared.  By  a  happy  chance  Grande 
had  passed  by;  otherwise  he  would  probably  have 
been  there  still.  And  how  had  he  acted?  He  had 
stood  like  a  guard,  immovable;  Irgens  had  been 
furious.  He  had  had  the  greatest  difficulty  in  keep- 
ing Aagot  from  the  windows.  If  she  had  happened 
to  glance  out  she  must  have  discovered  him.  He 
had  made  no  effort  to  conceal  himself.  One  would 
think  he  had  stood  there  with  the  avowed  intention 
of  being  seen,  in  order  to  keep  the  couple  in  a  state 
of  siege. 

Now  he  appeared  slightly  embarrassed.  He  fin- 
gered his  glass  nervously  and  looked  down.  But 
suddenly  it  seemed  as  if  Irgens' s  insolence  had 
roused  him;  he  said  bluntly  and  without  connection 
with  what  had  been  discussed  before: 

"Tell  me  one  thing —  Or,  let  me  rather  say  it 
myself:  These  poets  are  turning  everything  upside 
down;  nobody  dares  to  grumble.  An  author  might 
owe  in  unsecured  debts  his  twenty  thousand — what 
of  it?  He  is  unable  to  pay,  that  is  all.  What  if  a 


282  SHALLOW  SOIL 

business  man  should  act  in  this  manner?  What  if 
he  were  to  obtain  wine  or  clothes  on  false  promises 
of  payment?  He  would  simply  be  arrested  for 
fraud  and  declared  bankrupt.  But  the  authors,  the 
artists,  these  talented  superbeings  who  suck  the 
country's  blood  like  vampires  to  the  nation's  acclaim 
— who  would  dare  take  such  measures  with  them? 
People  simply  discuss  the  scandal  privately  and 
laugh  and  think  it  infernally  smart  that  a  man  can 
owe  his  twenty  thousand 

Milde  put  his  glass  down  hard  and  said: 

"My  good  man,  this  has  gone  far  enough!" 

That  splendid  fellow  Milde  seemed  all  at  once  to 
have  lost  his  patience.  While  he  was  sitting  alone 
with  the  Attorney  and  the  Actor  he  had  found  the 
miserable  Tutor's  bitter  sarcasms  amusing,  but  no 
sooner  had  one  of  the  Authors  appeared  than  he 
felt  outraged  and  struck  his  fist  on  the  table.  It  was 
Milde's  excellent  habit  always  to  await  reinforce- 
ments. 

Coldevin  looked  at  him. 

"Do  you  think  so?"  he  said. 

"I'll  be  damned  if  I  don't." 

Coldevin  had  undoubtedly  spoken  intentionally. 
He  had  even  addressed  his  remarks  very  plainly. 
Irgens  bit  his  moustache  occasionally. 

But  now  Norem  woke  up.  He  understood  that 
something  was  happening  before  his  dull  eyes,  and 
he  began  to  mix  in,  to  declaim  about  business 


FINALE  283 

morals.  It  was  the  rottenest  morality  on  earth, 
usury — a  morality  for  Jews!  Was  it  right  to  de- 
mand usurious  interest?  Don't  argue  with  him. 
He  knew  what  he  was  talking  about.  Ho!  business 
morals!  The  rottenest  morals  on  earth.  .  .  . 

Meanwhile  the  Attorney  was  talking  across  the 
table  to  Irgens  and  Miss  Aagot.  He  told  them 
how  he  had  come  across  Coldevin. 

"I  ran  across  him  a  moment  ago  up  your  way, 
Irgens,  in  Thranes  Road,  right  below  your  windows. 
I  brought  him  along.  I  couldn't  let  the  fellow 
stand  there  alone — 

Aagot  asked  quickly,  with  big,  bewildered  eyes: 

"  Thranes  Road,  did  you  say?  Irgens,  he  was 
standing  below  your  windows!" 

Her  heart  was  fluttering  with  fear.  Coldevin  ob- 
served her  fixedly;  he  made  sure  that  she  should 
notice  he  was  staring  straight  at  her. 

Meanwhile  Norem  continued  his  impossible  tirade. 
So  it  was  charged  that  the  people  as  a  whole  was 
corrupt,  that  its  men  and  women  were  debased 
because  they  honoured  literature  and  art.  "Ho!  you 
leave  art  alone,  my  good  man,  and  don't  you  bother 
about  that!  Men  and  women  corrupt!— 

Coldevin  seized  this  chance  remark  by  the  hair 
and  replied.  He  did  not  address  Norem;  he  looked 
away  from  him.  He  spoke  about  something  that 
evidently  was  vitally  important  in  his  eyes.  He  ad- 
dressed himself  to  nobody  in  particular,  and  yet  his 


284  SHALLOW  SOIL 

words  were  meant  for  some  one.  It  was  hardly  cor- 
rect to  say  that  men  and  women  were  corrupt;  they 
had  simply  reached  a  certain  degree  of  hollowness; 
they  had  degenerated  and  grown  small.  Shallow 
soil,  ansemic  soil,  without  growth,  without  fertility! 
The  women  carried  on  their  surface  existence.  They 
were  not  tired  of  life,  but  they  did  not  venture 
much  either.  How  could  they  put  up  any  stakes? 
They  had  none  to  put  up.  They  darted  around  like 
blue,  heatless  flames;  they  nibbled  at  everything, 
joys  and  sorrows,  and  they  did  not  realise  that  they 
had  grown  insignificant.  Their  ambitions  did  not 
soar;  their  hearts  did  not  suffer  greatly;  they  beat 
quite  regularly,  but  they  did  not  swell  more  for  one 
thing  than  for  another,  more  for  one  person  than 
for  another.  What  had  our  young  women  done  with 
their  proud  eyes?  Nowadays  they  looked  on  medioc- 
rity as  willingly  as  on  superiority.  They  lost  them- 
selves in  admiration  over  rather  every-day  poetry, 
over  common  fiction.  Some  time  ago  greater  and 
prouder  things  were  needed  to  conquer  them.  There 
was  a  page  here  and  there  in  Norway's  history  to 
prove  that.  Our  young  women  had  modified  their 
demands  considerably;  they  couldn't  help  it;  their 
pride  was  gone,  their  strength  sapped.  The  young 
woman  had  lost  her  power,  her  glorious  and  price- 
less simplicity,  her  unbridled  passion,  her  brand 
of  breed.  She  had  lost  her  pride  in  the  only  man, 
her  hero,  her  god.  She  had  acquired  a  sweet  tooth. 


FINALE  285 

She  sniffed  at  everything  and  gave  everybody  the 
willing  glance.  Love  to  her  was  simply  the  name 
for  an  extinct  feeling;  she  had  read  about  it  and  at 
times  she  had  been  entertained  by  it,  but  it  had 
never  sweetly  overpowered  her  and  forced  her  to 
her  knees;  it  had  simply  fluttered  past  her  like  an 
outworn  sound.  "But  the  young  woman  of  our 
day  does  not  pretend  to  all  this;  alas,  no!  She  is 
honestly  shorn.  There  is  nothing  to  do  about  it; 
the  only  thing  is  to  keep  the  loss  within  limits.  In 
a  few  generations  we  shall  probably  experience  a  re- 
naissance; everything  comes  hi  cycles.  But  for  the 
present  we  are  sadly  denuded.  Only  our  business  life 
beats  with  a  healthy,  strong  pulse.  Only  our  com- 
merce lives  its  deed-filled  life.  Let  us  place  our  faith 
in  that!  From  it  will  the  newer  Norway  spring!" 

These  last  words  seemed  to  irritate  Milde;  he 
took  out  of  his  pocketbook  a  ten-crown  bill  which 
he  threw  across  the  table  to  Coldevin.  He  said 
furiously : 

"There — take  your  money!  I  had  almost  forgot- 
ten that  I  owed  you  this  money,  but  I  trust  you 
understand  that  you  can  go  now!" 

Coldevin  coloured  deeply.    He  took  the  bill  slowly. 

"You  do  not  thank  me  very  politely  for  the  loan," 
he  said. 

"And  who  has  told  you  that  I  am  a  polite  man? 
The  main  thing  is  that  you  have  got  your  money 
and  that  we  hope  now  to  be  rid  of  you." 


286  SHALLOW  SOIL 

"Well,  I  thank  you;  I  need  it,"  said  Coldevin. 
The  very  way  in  which  he  picked  up  the  bill  showed 
plainly  that  he  was  not  used  to  handling  money. 
Suddenly  he  looked  straight  at  Milde  and  added: 
"I  must  confess  I  had  not  expected  you  ever  to 
repay  this  loan." 

Milde  blazed  up,  but  only  for  a  moment.  Even 
this  direct  insult  did  not  make  him  lose  his  temper. 
He  swallowed  it,  mumbled  a  reply,  said  finally  that 
he  had  not  intended  to  be  rude;  he  would  apolo- 
gise. .  .  . 

But  Norem,  who  sat  there  drunk  and  dull,  could 
no  longer  repress  his  amusement.  He  only  saw  the 
comical  side  of  the  incident  and  cried  laughingly: 

"Have  you  touched  this  fellow,  too,  Milde?  So 
help  me,  you  can  borrow  money  from  anybody! 
You  are  inimitable.  Ha,  ha!  from  him,  too!" 

Coldevin  rose. 

Aagot  got  up  simultaneously  and  ran  over  to  him. 
She  took  his  hand,  a  prey  to  the  greatest  excitement. 
She  began  whispering  to  him.  She  led  him  over  to 
a  window  and  continued  speaking  earnestly,  in  a 
low  voice.  They  sat  down.  There  was  nobody  else 
around,  and  she  said: 

"Yes,  yes,  you  are  right;  it  is  true.  You  were 
speaking  to  me;  I  understood  it  only  too  well;  you 
are  right,  right,  right!  Oh,  but  it  is  going  to  be 
different!  You  said  that  I  couldn't,  that  it  was  not 
within  my  power;  but  I  can;  I  will  show  you!  I 


FINALE  287 

understand  it  all  now;  you  have  opened  my  eyes. 
Dear,  do  not  be  angry  with  me.  I  have  done  a 
great  wrong,  but " 

She  wept  with  dry  eyes.  She  swallowed  hard. 
She  sat  on  the  very  edge  of  the  chair  in  her  excite- 
ment. He  injected  a  word  now  and  then,  nodded, 
shook  his  head  when  she  appeared  too  disconsolate, 
and  in  his  confusion  he  called  her  "Aagot,  dearest 
Aagot."  She  must  not  apply  everything  he  had  said 
to  herself,  not  at  all.  Of  course,  he  had  thought  of 
her,  too,  that  was  true;  but  then  he  had  been  mis- 
taken— thank  God  for  that!  He  had  simply  wanted 
to  warn  her.  She  was  so  young;  he,  who  was  older, 
knew  better  from  where  danger  threatened.  But 
now  she  must  forget  it  and  be  cheerful. 

They  continued  to  speak.  Irgens  grew  impatient 
and  rose.  He  stretched  himself  and  yawned  as 
if  to  indicate  that  he  was  going.  Suddenly  he  re- 
membered something  he  had  forgotten.  He  walked 
quickly  over  to  the  bar  and  got  some  roasted  coffee 
which  he  put  hi  his  vest  pocket. 

Milde  settled  the  checks.  He  flung  money  around 
with  the  greatest  unconcern;  then  he  said  good-bye 
and  left.  A  moment  afterward  they  saw  him  bow  to 
a  lady  outside.  He  spoke  a  few  words  and  they 
walked  away  through  a  side-street.  The  lady 
wore  a  long  boa  which  billowed  behind  her  in  the 
breeze. 

And  still  Aagot  and  Coldevin  sat  there. 


288  SHALLOW  SOIL 

"Won't  you  take  me  home?  Excuse  me  a  mo- 
ment, I  want  to " 

She  ran  over  to  Irgens's  table  and  took  her  coat 
from  the  chair. 

"Are  you  going?"  he  asked  her  in  amazement. 

uYes.  Ugh — I  won't  do  this  any  more.  Good- 
bye!" 

"What  won't  you  do  any  more?  Don't  you  want 
me  to  take  you  home?" 

"No.  And  not  later  either;  not  to-morrow.  No, 
I  am  through  for  good."  She  gave  Irgens  her  hand 
and  said  good-bye  quickly.  All  the  time  she  looked 
at  Coldevin  and  seemed  impatient  to  be  off. 

"Remember  our  engagement  for  to-morrow," 
Irgens  said. 


Ill 

AAGOT  and  Coldevin  walked  together  down  the 
street.  He  said  nothing  about  his  going  away,  and 
she  didn't  know  of  his  intention.  She  was  happy 
to  be  with  Coldevin,  this  phenomenon  who  irritated 
everybody  with  his  impossible  harangues.  She 
walked  close  beside  him;  her  heart  was  fluttering. 

"Forgive  me!"  she  pleaded.  "Yes,  you  must  for- 
give me  everything,  both  that  which  has  happened 
before  and  to-day.  A  while  ago  I  should  have  been 
afraid  to  ask  you,  but  no  sooner  am  I  with  you  than 
I  become  bold  again.  You  never  reprove  me,  never. 
But  I  haven't  done  anything  wrong  to-day — I  mean 
to-day  when  I  was  far  up-town;  you  understand 
what  I  mean."  And  she  looked  at  him  with  an 
open,  straightforward  glance. 

"Are  you  going  back  home  soon,  Miss  Aagot?" 

"Yes,  I  am  going  back  at  once —  Forgive  me, 
Coldevin,  and  believe  me,  believe  me — I  have  done 
nothing  wrong  to-day;  but  I  am  so  sorry,  I  repent 
everything —  Blue,  heatless  flames,  without  much 
pride —  I  am  not  so  stupid  that  I  do  not  know 
whom  you  had  in  mind  when  you  said  this." 

"But,  dearest  Aagot,"  he  exclaimed  hi  his  per- 

289 


290  SHALLOW  SOIL 

plexity,  "it  was  not  meant  for  you — I  didn't  mean 
it  at  all!  And  besides,  I  was  mistaken,  greatly  mis- 
taken; thank  God,  you  are  entirely  different.  But 
promise  me  one  thing,  Aagot;  promise  that  you  will 
be  a  little  careful,  do!  It  is  none  of  my  business,  of 
course;  but  you  have  fallen  in  with  a  crowd — be- 
lieve me,  they  are  not  your  kind  of  people.  Mrs. 
Tidemand  has  gained  bitter  experience  through 
them." 

She  glanced  at  him  inquiringly. 

"I  thought  it  best  to  tell  you.  Mrs.  Tidemand, 
one  of  the  few  sterling  personalities  in  the  clique,  even 
she!  One  from  that  crowd  has  destroyed  her,  too." 

"Is  that  true?"  said  Aagot.  "Well,  I  don't  care 
in  the  least  for  them;  alas,  no!  I  don't  want  to 
remember  any  of  them."  And  she  seized  Coldevin's 
arm  and  pressed  close  to  him  as  if  in  fear. 

This  embarrassed  him  still  more.  He  slowed  up  a 
little,  and  she  said  with  a  smile  as  she  let  go  his 
arm: 

"I  suppose  I  mustn't  do  that?" 

"H'm.  What  are  you  going  to  do  when  you  get 
back  home?  By  the  way,  have  you  heard  from 
your  fiance?" 

"No,  not  yet.  But  I  suppose  it  is  too  early.  Are 
you  afraid  of  anything  happening  to  him?  Dear  me, 
tell  me  if  you  are!" 

"No;  don't  worry!  He  will  get  back  safe 
enough." 


FINALE  291 

They  stopped  at  her  door  and  said  good-bye.  She 
ascended  the  few  steps  hesitatingly,  without  even 
lifting  her  dress;  suddenly  she  turned,  ran  down- 
stairs again,  and  seized  Coldevin's  hand. 

Without  another  word  she  hurried  up-stairs  and 
through  the  door. 

He  stood  still  a  moment.  He  heard  her  steps 
from  inside,  then  they  died  down.  And  he  turned 
and  drifted  down  the  street.  He  saw  and  heard 
nothing  of  what  happened  around  him. 

Instinctively  he  walked  toward  the  basement  res- 
taurant where  he  usually  took  his  meals.  He  went 
down  and  ordered  something.  Hurriedly  he  ate 
everything  that  was  placed  before  him;  apparently 
he  had  not  eaten  for  a  long  while.  And  when  he 
was  through  he  took  out  the  ten-crown  bill  and  paid 
his  check  from  that.  At  the  same  time  he  felt  in 
his  waistcoat  pocket  for  a  little  package,  a  few 
crowns  in  silver — the  small  amount  he  had  put  aside 
for  his  railway  ticket,  and  which  he  had  not  dared 
to  touch. 

The  following  day,  around  five,  Aagot  was  walk- 
ing down  toward  the  docks,  toward  the  same  place 
where  she  had  walked  the  day  before.  Irgens  was 
already  waiting  for  her. 

She  hurried  toward  him  and  said: 

"I  came  after  all,  but  only  to  tell  you —  I  won't 
meet  you  any  more.  I  haven't  time  to  talk  to  you 


292  SHALLOW  SOIL 

now,  but  I  did  not  want  you  to  come  here  and  wait 
for  me." 

"Listen,  Miss  Aagot,"  he  said  boldly,  "you  can't 
back  out  now,  you  know." 

"I  am  not  going  home  with  you  any  more,  never. 
I  have  learned  something.  Why  don't  you  get  Mrs. 
Tidemand  to  go  with  you?  Why  don't  you?" 
Aagot  was  pale  and  excited. 

"Mrs.  Tidemand?"  he  asked,  startled. 

"Yes,  I  know  everything.  I  have  asked  ques- 
tions—  Yes,  I  have  thought  of  it  all  night  long. 
Go  to  Mrs.  Tidemand,  why  don't  you?" 

He  stepped  close  to  her. 

"Mrs.  Tidemand  has  not  existed  for  me  since  I 
saw  you.  I  haven't  seen  her  for  weeks.  I  don't 
even  know  where  she  lives." 

"Well,  it  doesn't  matter,"  she  said.  "I  suppose 
you  can  look  her  up.  I  won't  go  home  with  you, 
but  I  can  walk  with  you  a  few  moments." 

They  walked  on.    Aagot  was  quiet  now. 

"I  said  I  have  thought  of  it  all  night,"  she  con- 
tinued. "Of  course,  not  all  night.  All  day,  I  meant. 
Not  all  the  tune,  I  mean —  You  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  yourself!  Married  ladies!  You  don't 
defend  yourself  very  warmly,  Irgens." 

"What  is  the  use?" 

"No,  I  suppose  you  love  her."  And  when  he  was 
silent  she  grew  violently  jealous.  "You  might  at 
least  tell  me  if  you  love  her!" 


FINALE  293 

"I  love  you,"  he  answered  "I  do  not  lie;  it  is 
you  and  nobody  else  I  love,  Aagot.  You  can  do 
with  me  what  you  like,  but  it  is  you."  He  did  not 
look  at  her.  He  gazed  down  on  the  pavement  and 
he  wrung  his  hands  repeatedly. 

She  felt  that  his  emotion  was  genuine  and  she 
said  gently: 

"All  right,  Irgens,  I'll  believe  you.  But  I  won't 
go  home  with  you." 

Pause. 

"What  has  made  you  so  hostile  toward  me  all  of  a 
sudden?"  he  asked.  "Is  it  this — ?  He  has  been 
your  tutor,  but  I  must  frankly  say  that  he  disgusts 
me,  dirty  and  unkempt  as  he  is." 

"You  will  be  good  enough  to  speak  civilly  of 
Coldevin,"  she  said  coldly. 

"Well,  he  is  going  away  to-night,  so  we  shall  be 
rid  of  him,"  he  said. 

She  stopped. 

"Is  he  going  this  evening?" 

"So  I  heard.     On  the  night  tram." 

Was  he  going?  He  hadn't  mentioned  that  to  her. 
Irgens  had  to  tell  her  how  he  knew.  She  was  so 
taken  up  with  this  news  about  Coldevin  that  she 
forgot  everything  else;  perhaps  she  even  felt  a  sense 
of  relief  at  the  thought  that  henceforth  she  would 
be  free  from  his  espionage.  When  Irgens  touched 
her  arm  lightly  she  walked  mechanically  ahead. 
They  went  straight  to  his  rooms.  When  they  stood 


294  SHALLOW  SOIL 

by  the  entrance  she  suddenly  recoiled.  She  said 
"No!"  repeatedly  while  she  looked  at  him  with 
staring,  bewildered  eyes.  But  he  pleaded  with  her. 
Finally  he  took  her  arm  and  led  her  firmly  inside. 

The  door  slammed  behind  them.  .  .  . 

On  the  corner  Coldevin  stood  and  watched. 
When  the  couple  disappeared  he  stepped  forward 
and  walked  over  to  the  entrance.  He  stood  there 
awhile.  He  bent  forward  stiffly  as  if  he  were  lis- 
tening. He  was  much  changed.  His  face  was  fear- 
fully drawn  and  his  lips  were  frozen  in  a  ghastly 
smile.  Then  he  sat  down  on  the  steps,  close  by  the 
wall,  waiting. 

An  hour  passed  by.  A  tower-clock  boomed.  His 
train  was  not  due  to  leave  for  another  hour.  Half 
an  hour  went  by.  He  heard  somebody  on  the  stairs. 
Irgens  came  first.  Coldevin  did  not  stir;  he  sat 
motionless  with  his  back  to  the  door.  Then  Aagot 
appeared.  Suddenly  she  cried  out  loudly.  Coldevin 
arose  and  walked  away.  He  had  not  looked  at  her 
nor  had  he  said  a  word;  he  had  simply  shown  him- 
self— he  had  been  on  the  spot.  He  swayed  like  a 
man  in  a  stupor.  He  turned  the  very  first  corner, 
the  frozen  smile  still  on  his  lips. 

Coldevin  walked  straight  down  to  the  railway 
station.  He  bought  his  ticket  and  was  ready.  The 
doors  were  thrown  open.  He  walked  out  to  the 
train-shed;  a  porter  came  after  him  with  his  trunk. 
His  trunk?  All  right;  he  had  almost  forgotten  it. 


FINALE  295 

Put  it  in  there,  in  this  empty  compartment!  He 
entered  after  it  had  been  stowed  away;  then  he  col- 
lapsed utterly.  He  sat  in  the  corner;  his  gaunt, 
emaciated  body  shivered  convulsively.  In  a  few 
moments  he  took  from  his  pocketbook  a  tiny  silken 
bow  in  the  Norwegian  colours  and  began  to  tear  it 
to  pieces.  He  sat  there  quietly  and  plucked  the 
threads  apart.  When  he  had  finished  he  stared  at  the 
shreds  with  a  fixed,  vacant  stare.  The  engine  gave 
a  hoarse  blast;  the  train  started.  Coldevin  opened 
the  window  slowly  and  emptied  his  hand.  And  the 
tiny  bits  of  red  and  blue  whirled  away  behind  the 
train,  fluttered  and  sank  to  the  gravel,  to  be  ground 
in  the  dust  beneath  every  man's  foot. 


IV 

IT  was  several  days  later  before  Aagot  went 
home.  Irgens  had  not  persisted  in  vain.  He  had 
succeeded,  and  now  he  reaped  the  reward  of  all  his 
labour.  Aagot  was  with  him  continually.  She  was 
as  much  in  love  with  him  as  she  could  be.  She 
clung  to  his  neck. 

The  days  passed  by. 

Finally  a  telegram  arrived  from  Ole,  and  Aagot 
woke  from  her  trance.  The  wire  had  been  sent  to 
Torahus.  It  reached  her  after  much  delay.  Ole 
was  in  London. 

Well,  what  was  to  be  done?  Ole  was  in  London, 
but  he  was  not  here  yet.  She  did  not  remember 
clearly  how  he  looked.  Dark,  with  blue  eyes;  tall, 
with  a  stray  wisp  of  hair  which  always  fell  across 
his  forehead.  Whenever  she  thought  of  him  he 
seemed  to  belong  to  an  age  long  past.  How  long, 
long  it  was  since  he  went  away! 

The  telegram  stirred  to  life  again  her  dormant 
feelings  for  the  absent  one.  She  trembled  with  the 
old  sense  of  possession.  She  whispered  his  name 
and  blessed  him  for  his  goodness.  She  called  him 
to  her,  blushing  breathlessly.  No,  nobody  was  like 

296 


FINALE  297 

him!  He  did  not  wrong  anybody.  He  walked  his 
straightforward  way,  guileless  and  upright.  How 
he  loved  her!  Little  mistress,  little  mistress!  His 
breast  was  so  warm!  She  grew  warm  herself  when 
she  nestled  close  to  him.  How  he  could  look  up 
from  a  row  of  figures  and  smile!  .  .  .  Oh,  she  had 
not  forgotten!  .  .  . 

She  packed  her  belongings  resolutely  and  wanted 
to  go  home  in  spite  of  everything.  The  evening  be- 
fore she  left  she  said  good-bye  to  Irgens,  a  protracted 
good-bye  which  rent  her  heart.  She  was  his  now, 
and  Ole  would  probably  get  over  it.  She  made  up 
her  mind.  She  would  go  home  and  she  would  cancel 
her  engagement  as  soon  as  Ole  returned.  What 
would  he  say  when  he  read  her  letter  with  the  ring 
enclosed?  She  writhed  at  the  thought  that  she 
wouldn't  be  near  him  to  comfort  him.  She  had  to 
strike  him  from  afar!  And  thus  it  had  to  end! 

Irgens  was  full  of  tenderness  and  cheered  her  as 
much  as  he  could.  They  should  not  be  separated 
for  long.  If  nothing  else  turned  up  he  would  walk 
up  to  her  on  his  feet!  Besides,  she  could  get  back  to 
town;  she  wasn't  a  pauper  exactly;  she  even  owned 
a  yacht,  a  real  yacht — what  more  did  she  want? 
And  Aagot  smiled  at  this  jest  and  felt  relieved. 

The  door  was  locked;  they  were  alone.  Every- 
thing was  quiet ;  they  heard  their  hearts  beat.  And 
they  said  farewell  to  each  other. 

Irgens  would  not  take  her  to  the  train.     It  might 


298  SHALLOW  SOIL 

give  rise  to  too  much  gossip;  the  town  was  so 
small  and  he  was,  unfortunately,  so  well  known. 
But  they  would  write,  write  every  day;  otherwise 
she  would  never  be  able  to  endure  the  separa- 
tion. .  .  . 

Tidemand  was  the  only  one  who  knew  of  Aagot's 
departure  and  who  followed  her  to  the  train.  He 
was  paying  his  usual  call  to  Henriksen's  office  dur- 
ing the  afternoon  and  was  having  his  daily  chat 
with  the  old  man.  As  he  left  he  met  Aagot  out- 
side: she  was  ready  to  go.  Tidemand  accompanied 
her  and  carried  her  valise;  her  trunk  had  been  sent 
ahead. 

It  had  rained  and  the  streets  were  muddy.  Aagot 
said  several  times: 

"What  a  disagreeable,  mournful  day!" 

They  hardly  spoke.    Aagot  simply  said: 

"It  was  very  kind  of   you  to  come  with  me; 

otherwise  I  should  have  been   altogether   alone." 

And  Tidemand  noticed  that  she  tried  to  appear 

unconcerned.     She  smiled,  but  her  eyes  were  moist. 

He,  too,  smiled  and  said  comfortingly  that  he  was 

glad  she  was  going  to  leave  all  this  mud  and  filth; 

now  she  was  going  to  the  country,  to  cleaner  roads, 

to  purer  air.     These  few  words  were  all  they  spoke. 

They  stood  in  the  train-shed  beneath  the  glass  vault. 

It  had  begun  to  rain,  and  they  heard  the  drops 

beating  on  the  roof  while  the  engine  stood  wheezing 

on  the  track.     Aagot  entered  her  compartment  and 


FINALE  299 

gave  Tidemand  her  hand.  And  in  a  sudden  desire 
to  be  forgiven,  to  be  judged  charitably,  she  said  to 
this  stranger,  whom  she  knew  so  slightly: 

"Good-bye —  And  do  not  judge  me  too  harshly! " 
and  she  coloured  deeply. 

"But,  child!"  he  said  amazed.  He  had  no  tune 
to  say  more. 

She  put  her  fair  little  face  out  of  the  window  and 
nodded  as  the  train  moved  along.  Her  eyes  were 
wet,  and  she  struggled  not  to  break  down.  She 
looked  at  Tidemand  as  long  as  she  could  see  him, 
then  she  waved  a  tiny  handkerchief. 

The  strange  girl!  Her  unaffected  simplicity 
moved  him.  He  did  not  stop  waving  until  the 
train  was  out  of  sight.  Not  judge  her  too  harshly? 
He  certainly  wouldn't!  And  if  he  ever  had  been 
tempted  to,  he  would  know  better  in  the  future.  She 
had  waved  to  him — almost  a  stranger!  He  would  be 
sure  and  tell  Ole — how  that  would  please  him!  .  .  . 

Tidemand  walked  toward  his  own  wharf.  He  was 
very  busy.  He  was  altogether  taken  up  with  his  af- 
fairs. His  business  was  steadily  growing.  He  had 
been  forced  to  take  on  several  of  his  old  employees. 
At  present  he  was  shipping  tar. 

When  he  had  given  his  orders  hi  the  warehouse, 
he  walked  over  to  the  restaurant  where  he  usually 
took  his  meals.  It  was  late.  He  ate  hurriedly 
and  spoke  to  no  one.  He  was  engrossed  in  thought 


300  SHALLOW  SOIL 

about  a  new  enterprise  he  had  in  mind.  His  tar 
was  going  to  Spain.  The  rye  held  firm,  with  good 
prices;  he  sold  steadily,  his  business  began  to  stretch 
forth  new  arms.  There  was  that  new  tannery  near 
Torahus.  How  would  it  do  if  one  gave  a  little 
thought  to  a  tar-manufacturing  plant  alongside? 
He  really  was  going  to  speak  to  Ole  about  that. 
He  had  had  it  in  mind  several  weeks.  He  had  even 
consulted  an  engineer  about  it.  There  were  the 
cuttings  and  the  tops.  If  the  tannery  took  the  bark, 
why  shouldn't  the  tar  plant  take  the  wood? 

Tidemand  walked  home.    It  rained  steadily. 

A  few  steps  from  his  office  entrance  he  stopped 
abruptly;  then  he  sidled  quietly  into  an  area- way. 
He  stared  straight  ahead.  His  wife  was  standing 
out  there  in  the  rain,  outside  his  office.  She  was 
gazing,  now  at  his  office  windows,  now  up  to  the 
second  story.  There  she  stood.  He  could  not  be 
mistaken,  and  his  breath  came  in  gasps.  Once  be- 
fore he  had  seen  her  there.  She  had  circled  around 
in  the  shadows  beneath  the  street  lamps,  just  as 
now.  He  had  called  her  name  in  a  low  voice,  and 
she  had  immediately  hurried  around  the  street  corner 
without  looking  back.  This  happened  a  Sunday  eve- 
ning three  weeks  ago.  And  now  she  was  here  again. 

He  wanted  to  step  forward.  He  made  a  move- 
ment and  his  raincoat  rustled.  She  glanced  around 
quickly  and  hurried  away.  He  stood  immovable 
where  he  was  until  she  had  disappeared. 


OLE  HENRIKSEN  returned  a  week  later.  He  had 
become  uneasy.  He  had  telegraphed  to  Aagot  again 
and  again,  but  could  get  no  reply.  He  finished  up 
his  business  in  a  hurry  and  returned.  But  so  far 
was  he  from  suspecting  the  true  condition  of  affairs 
that  on  the  very  last  afternoon  hi  London  he  bought 
her  a  little  present,  a  carriage  for  her  fiord  pony  on 
Torahus. 

And  on  his  desk  he  found  Aagot's  letter  with  her 
ring  enclosed. 

Ole  Henriksen  read  the  letter  almost  without 
grasping  its  meaning.  His  hands  commenced  to 
tremble,  and  his  eyes  were  staring.  He  went  over 
and  locked  the  office  door,  and  read  the  letter  once 
more.  It  was  brief  and  to  the  point;  it  could  not 
be  misunderstood;  she  gave  him  back  his  "free- 
dom." And  there  was  the  ring,  wrapped  in  tissue- 
paper.  No,  he  could  hardly  be  uncertain  as  to  the 
meaning  of  that  letter. 

And  Ole  Henriksen  drifted  back  and  forth  hi  his 
office  for  several  hours.  He  placed  the  letter  on  his 
desk  and  walked  with  hands  tightly  clasped  behind 
him.  He  took  the  letter  again  and  read  it  once 

more.     He  was  "free"! 

301 


302  SHALLOW  SOIL 

He  must  not  think  that  she  did  not  love  him,  she 
had  written.  She  thought  of  him  as  much  as  ever; 
yes,  more  even.  She  begged  his  forgiveness  a  hun- 
dred times  every  day.  But  what  good  was  it  if  she 
thought  of  him  ever  so  much?  she  continued.  She 
was  his  no  more,  it  had  come  to  that.  But  she  had 
not  surrendered  at  once,  nor  without  a  struggle;  God 
knows  that  she  had  loved  him  so  dearly,  and  that 
she  did  not  want  to  belong  to  anybody  but  to  him. 
However,  it  had  gone  entirely  too  far  now;  she 
would  only  ask  him  to  judge  her  kindly,  though  she 
did  not  deserve  it,  and  not  to  grieve  over  her. 

The  letter  was  dated  twice.  She  had  not  noticed 
that.  It  was  written  hi  Aagot's  large,  childish  hand, 
and  was  touching  in  its  simplicity;  she  had  made 
several  corrections. 

Yes,  he  had  understood  it  clearly;  and,  besides, 
there  was  the  ring.  After  all,  what  did  he  amount 
to?  He  was  no  prominent  man,  known  all  over  the 
country;  he  was  no  genius  who  could  interest  a  girl 
greatly;  he  was  just  an  ordinary  toiler,  a  business 
man — that  was  all.  He  should  have  known  better 
than  imagine  he  would  be  allowed  to  keep  Aagot's 
heart  for  himself.  Just  see  how  he  had  fooled  him- 
self! Of  course,  he  attended  to  his  business  and 
worked  conscientiously  early  and  late,  but  that 
could  not  make  people  fond  of  him.  There  was 
nothing  to  say  to  that.  Anyhow,  he  knew  now 
why  his  telegrams  had  remained  unanswered.  He 


FINALE  303 

ought  to  have  understood  it  at  once,  but  he  hadn't. 
.  .  .  She  had  gone  entirely  too  far.  She  said  good- 
bye and  loved  somebody  else.  Nothing  could  be 
done  about  that.  If  she  loved  somebody  else,  then 
...  It  was  probably  Irgens — he  would  get  her 
after  all.  Tidemand  had  been  right.  It  was  dan- 
gerous with  these  many  boat-rides  and  walks;  Tide- 
mand had  had  experience.  Well,  it  was  too  late  to 
think  of  that  now.  However,  one's  love  could  not 
have  been  so  very  firmly  rooted  if  a  walk  or  two 
had  been  enough  to  break  it  down.  .  .  . 

And  suddenly  the  anger  blazed  up  in  the  poor 
fellow.  He  walked  more  rapidly  and  his  forehead 
flamed.  She  had  gone  entirely  too  far.  That  was 
his  reward  for  the  love  he  had  lavished  on  her!  He 
had  knelt  before  a  hussy.  He  had  let  that  miser- 
able lover  of  hers  cheat  him  openly  for  years!  He 
could  prove  it  by  the  ledger — look  here — now  Aagot's 
fine  friend  had  been  hard  up  for  ten,  now  for  fifty 
crowns!  And  he,  Ole  Henriksen,  had  even  been 
afraid  that  Aagot  some  day  might  chance  to  see  the 
poet's  account  in  his  books.  He  had  finally  put 
away  the  ledger,  entirely  out  of  regard  for  the  great 
man's  feelings.  It  was  a  most  suitable  partnership ; 
they  were  worthy  of  each  other.  The  poet  had  some- 
thing to  write  about  now,  a  splendid  subject!  Ha, 
he  must  not  grieve  too  much  over  her;  she  could  not 
stand  that;  she  might  even  lose  sleep  over  it!  Think 
of  that!  But  who  had  said  that  he  would  grieve? 


304  SHALLOW  SOIL 

She  was  mistaken.  He  might  have  knelt  before  her, 
but  he  hadn't  licked  her  boots;  no,  he  would  hardly 
be  compelled  to  take  to  his  bed  on  account  of  this. 
She  need  not  worry;  she  need  not  weep  scalding 
tears  on  his  account.  So  she  had  jilted  him;  she 
returned  his  ring.  What  of  it?  But  why  had  she 
dragged  the  ring  all  the  way  up  to  Torahus?  Why 
hadn't  she  simply  left  it  on  his  desk  and  saved  the 
postage?  Good-bye;  good  riddance!  Go  to  the  devil 
with  your  silk-lined  deceiver,  and  never  let  me  hear 
of  you  again!  .  .  . 

He  wrung  his  hands  in  anguish  and  paced  back 
and  forth  with  long,  furious  strides.  He  would  take 
it  like  a  man.  He  would  fling  his  own  ring  in  her 
face  and  end  the  comedy  quickly.  He  stopped  at 
the  desk  and  tore  the  ring  off  his  finger,  wrapped  it 
up,  and  put  it  in  an  envelope.  He  wrote  the  ad- 
dress in  large,  brutal  letters;  his  hand  trembled  vio- 
lently. Somebody  knocked.  He  flung  the  letter 
into  a  drawer  and  closed  it  hastily. 

It  was  one  of  his  clerks  who  came  to  remind  him 
that  it  was  late.  Should  he  close  up? 

"Yes,  close  up.  But  wait;  I  am  through  now;  I 
am  going,  too.  Bring  me  the  keys." 

Nobody  should  be  able  to  say  that  he  broke  down 
because  of  a  shabby  trick  like  this.  He  would  show 
people  that  he  could  keep  his  composure.  He  might 
go  to  the  Grand  and  celebrate  his  return  with  a 
plain  glass  of  beer!  That  would  be  just  the  thing. 


FINALE  305 

He  had  no  intention  of  avoiding  people.  He  had  a 
revolver  lying  in  a  desk  drawer;  but  had  he  wanted 
to  use  that,  even  for  the  briefest  moment?  Had  he 
thought  of  it  even?  Not  at  all.  It  just  occurred  to 
him  now  that  it  might  be  getting  rusty.  No,  thank 
God!  one  was  not  exactly  weary  of  life.  .  .  . 

Ole  Henriksen  went  to  the  Grand. 

He  sat  down  at  a  table  and  ordered  his  glass  of 
beer.  A  moment  later  he  felt  somebody  slap  him  on 
the  shoulder.  He  looked  up;  it  was  Milde. 

" Good  old  boy!"  shouted  Milde.  " Are  you  sit- 
ting here  without  saying  a  word?  Welcome  back! 
Come  over  to  the  window;  you  will  find  a  couple  of 
the  fellows  there." 

Ole  went  over  to  the  window.  There  were  Ojen, 
Norem,  and  Gregersen,  all  of  them  with  half-empty 
wine-glasses  in  front  of  them.  Ojen  jumped  up  and 
said  pleasantly: 

"  Welcome  home,  old  man!  I  am  glad  to  see  you 
again.  I  have  missed  you  a  good  deal.  I  am  com- 
ing down  to-morrow  to  see  you.  There  is  something 
I  want  to  see  you  about." 

Gregersen  gave  him  a  finger.  Ole  took  it,  sat 
down,  and  told  the  waiter  to  bring  him  his  beer. 

"What!  are  you  drinking  beer?  No,  beer  will 
never  do  on  this  occasion;  it  must  be  wine!" 

"Well,  drink  what  you  want  to.  I  am  drinking 
beer." 

Just  then  Irgens  arrived,  and  Milde  called  to  him: 


306  SHALLOW  SOIL 

"Ole  is  drinking  beer,  but  we  are  not  going  to  do 
that.  What  do  you  say?" 

Irgens  did  not  show  the  least  sign  of  embarrass- 
ment when  he  faced  Ole;  he  barely  nodded  and  said 
indifferently:  " Welcome  home!"  And  Ole  looked 
at  him  and  noticed  that  his  cuffs  were  not  entirely 
clean;  as  a  matter  of  fact,  his  dress  was  not  quite 
up  to  his  usual  standard. 

But  Milde  repeated  his  question:  wasn't  it  a 
little  too  commonplace  to  drink  beer  at  a  double 
celebration? 

"A  double  celebration?"  asked  Gregersen. 

"Exactly — yes.  In  the  first  place,  Ole  has  re- 
turned, and  that  is  of  the  greatest  importance  to  us 
at  present;  I  frankly  admit  that.  But  I  have,  in  the 
second  place,  just  been  dispossessed  from  my  studio, 
and  that  has  also  a  certain  solemn  significance.  What 
do  you  think?  The  landlady  came  and  wanted 
money.  'Money?'  I  asked  in  amazement,  and  so 
on  and  so  on.  But  the  outcome  was  that  I  was 
put  out,  without  notice — only  a  couple  of  hours'. 
Ha,  ha!  I  have  never  heard  of  such  a  notice.  Of 
course,  she  had  already  given  me  her  ultimatum  a 
month  ago;  still —  I  had  to  leave  a  couple  of  fin- 
ished canvases.  But  I  think  this  ought  to  be  cele- 
brated in  wine,  for  Ole  does  not  care  what  we 
drink." 

"Of  course  not;   why  should  I  care?"  asked  Ole. 

And  the  gentlemen  drank  industriously.     They 


FINALE  307 

grew  well  disposed  and  cheerful  before  they  took 
their  departure.  Irgens  was  first  to  leave;  then 
Ojen  followed.  Ole  remained  until  they  had  all 
gone,  all  except  Norem,  who  sat  there  as  usual  and 
slumbered.  He  had  listened  to  the  talk.  Occasion- 
ally he  had  injected  a  word.  He  had  grown  weary 
and  subdued;  a  bitter  disgust  had  taken  possession 
of  him  and  made  him  dully  indifferent  to  everything. 

At  last  he  got  up  and  paid  his  check. 

The  waiter  halted  him. 

" Pardon  me,"  he  said,  "but  the  wine " 

"The  wine?"  asked  Ole.  "I  have  only  had  a 
couple  of  glasses  of  beer." 

"Yes,  but  the  wine  isn't  paid  for." 

So  the  gentlemen  hadn't  paid  their  checks?  For 
a  moment  the  hot  anger  blazed  up  in  him  again;  he 
was  on  the  point  of  saying  that  if  they  would  send 
the  bill  to  Torahus  it  would  be  paid  instantly.  But 
he  said:  "All  right;  I  can  pay  it,  I  suppose." 

But  what  should  he  do  at  home?  Go  to  bed  and 
sleep?  If  he  only  could!  He  turned  into  the  dark- 
est streets  in  order  to  be  alone.  He  was  going 
homeward,  but  he  swung  aside  and  walked  toward 
the  Fortress. 

Here  he  suddenly  came  across  Tidemand.  He 
was  standing  in  front  of  a  dark  gateway  gazing  at 
the  house  opposite.  What  could  Tidemand  be  doing 
there? 

Ole  walked  over  to  him.  They  looked  at  each 
other  in  surprise. 


308  SHALLOW  SOIL 

"I  am  taking  a  walk,  a  little  walk,"  said  Tide- 
mand somewhat  sheepishly.  "I  came  by  here  by 
accident —  Thank  goodness,  you  are  back,  Ole! 
Welcome  home!  Let  us  get  away  from  here!" 

Tidemand  could  not  get  over  his  surprise.  He 
had  not  known  that  Ole  was  back.  Everything  was 
all  right  at  the  office;  he  had  called  on  the  old  man 
regularly,  as  he  had  promised. 

"And  your  sweetheart  has  gone  away,"  he  con- 
tinued. "I  went  with  her  to  the  train.  She  is  a 
darling  girl!  She  was  a  little  upset  because  she  was 
going  away;  she  stood  there  and  looked  at  me  with 
real  shining  eyes ;  you  know  how  she  is.  And  as  the 
train  went  off  she  took  out  her  handkerchief  and 
waved  to  me — waved  so  sweetly,  just  because  I  had 
come  with  her.  You  ought  to  have  seen  her;  she 
was  lovely." 

"Well,  I  am  not  engaged  any  more,"  said  Ole  in 
a  hollow  voice. 

Ole  went  into  his  office.  It  was  late  at  night. 
He  had  walked  with  Tidemand  a  long  time  and  told 
him  everything.  He  was  going  to  write  a  letter  to 
Aagot's  parents,  respectful  and  dignified,  without 
reproaches.  He  felt  he  ought  to  do  that. 

When  he  had  finished  this  letter  he  read  Aagot's 
once  more.  He  wanted  to  tear  it  to  pieces  and  burn 
it  up,  but  he  paused  and  placed  it  in  front  of  him  on 
the  desk.  It  was  at  least  a  letter  from  her,  the  last. 
She  had  sat  there  and  written  to  him  and  thought  of 


FINALE  309 

him  while  she  wrote.  She  had  held  the  paper  with 
her  tiny  hands,  and  there  her  pen  had  scratched. 
She  had  probably  wiped  it  on  something  and  dipped 
it  and  written  on.  That  letter  was  for  him,  for  no 
one  else.  Everybody  had  probably  been  in  bed 
while  she  wrote. 

He  took  the  ring  out  of  its  wrapping  and  looked 
at  it  for  a  long  tune.  He  was  sorry  that  he  had 
lost  his  temper  and  said  words  which  he  now  re- 
gretted. He  took  them  back,  every  one.  Good-bye, 
then,  Aagot.  .  .  . 

And  he  placed  Aagot's  last  letter  with  the  others. 


VI 

OLE  began  to  work  hard  again;  he  spent  practi- 
cally all  his  time  in  his  office.  He  lost  flesh;  he  did 
not  get  out  enough;  his  eyes  became  absent  and 
flickering.  He  was  hardly  off  the  wharves  or  out- 
side the  warehouses  for  several  weeks.  Nobody 
should  say  that  he  pined  and  drooped  because  his 
engagement  was  cancelled!  He  worked  and  minded 
his  own  business  and  was  getting  on  nicely. 

He  was  getting  thin;  that  was  simply  because  he 
worked  too  hard.  He  hoped  nobody  would  think 
it  might  be  due  to  other  causes.  There  were  so 
many  things  to  be  done  since  his  return  from  Eng- 
land; he  had  explained  it  all  to  Tidemand.  But 
he  was  going  to  take  it  a  little  easier  now.  He 
wanted  to  get  out  a  little,  observe  what  was  doing, 
amuse  himself. 

And  he  dragged  Tidemand  to  theatres  and  to  Ti- 
voli.  They  took  long  walks  in  the  evenings.  They 
arranged  to  start  the  tannery  and  the  tar  works  this 
coming  spring.  Ole  was  even  more  enthusiastic 
than  Tidemand;  he  threw  himself  so  eagerly  into 
the  project  that  nobody  could  for  a  moment  harbour 
any  mistaken  notions  about  his  being  grief-stricken. 

310 


FINALE  311 

He  never  mentioned  Aagot;  she  was  dead  and  for- 
gotten. 

And  Tidemand,  too,  was  getting  along  comfort- 
ably. He  had  lately  re-engaged  his  old  cook  and  he 
took  his  meals  at  home  now.  It  was  a  little  lonely. 
The  dining-room  was  too  large,  and  there  was  an 
empty  chair;  but  the  children  carried  on  and  made 
the  most  glorious  noise  throughout  the  house;  he 
heard  them  sometimes  clear  down  in  his  office.  They 
disturbed  him  often,  took  him  away  from  his  work 
at  times;  for  whenever  he  heard  their  little  feet 
patter  on  the  floors  up-stairs  and  their  merry  shouts 
echo  through  the  rooms  he  simply  had  to  put  down 
his  pen  and  run  up  for  a  moment.  In  a  few  minutes 
he  would  come  back  and  throw  himself  into  his 
work  like  an  energetic  youth.  .  .  .  Yes,  Tidemand 
was  getting  along  famously;  he  couldn't  deny  it. 
Everything  had  begun  to  turn  out  well  for  him. 

On  his  way  home  one  evening  Tidemand  happened 
to  drop  in  at  a  grocery  store  he  supplied  with  goods. 
It  was  entirely  by  accident.  He  entered  the  store 
and  walked  over  to  the  owner  who  stood  behind 
the  counter.  Suddenly  he  saw  his  wife  at  the 
counter;  hi  front  of  her  he  noticed  some  parcels. 

Tidemand  had  not  seen  her  since  that  evening 
outside  his  office.  He  had  fortunately  caught  sight 
of  her  ring  in  a  jewellery  window  as  he  passed  by 
one  day  and  had  immediately  bought  it  and  sent  it 
to  her.  On  a  card  she  had  written  a  few  words  of 


312  SHALLOW  SOIL 

thanks.  She  had  not  missed  the  ring,  but  it  was 
another  matter  now;  she  would  keep  it  always. 

She  stood  there  at  the  counter  in  a  black  dress; 
it  was  a  little  threadbare.  For  a  moment  he  won- 
dered if  perhaps  she  was  in  need,  if  he  did  not  give 
her  enough  money?  Why  did  she  wear  such  old 
dresses?  But  he  had  sent  her  a  good  deal  of  money. 
Thank  God,  he  was  able  to  do  that.  In  the  be- 
ginning, when  he  was  still  struggling,  he  hadn't 
sent  her  such  large  amounts,  it  was  true.  He  had 
grieved  over  it  and  written  to  her  not  to  be  impa- 
tient; it  would  be  better  soon.  And  she  had  thanked 
him  and  answered  that  he  was  sending  her  altogether 
too  much;  how  was  she  going  to  use  it  all?  She 
had  lots  and  lots  of  money  left. 

But  why  did  she  dress  so  shabbily,  then? 

She  had  turned  around;  she  recognised  his  voice 
when  he  spoke  to  the  owner.  He  grew  confused; 
he  bowed  smilingly  to  her  as  he  had  to  the  grocer, 
and  she  blushed  deeply  as  she  returned  his  bow. 

"Never  mind  about  the  rest,"  she  said  to  the 
clerk  in  a  low  voice.  "I'll  get  that  some  other 
time."  And  she  paid  hurriedly  and  gathered  up  her 
bundles.  Tidemand  followed  her  with  his  eyes. 
She  stooped  as  she  walked  and  looked  abashed  until 
she  disappeared. 


VII 

AND  the  days  passed  by.  The  town  was  quiet; 
everything  was  quiet. 

Irgens  was  still  capable  of  surprising  people  and 
attracting  everybody's  attention.  He  had  looked 
a  little  careworn  and  depressed  for  some  time;  his 
debts  bothered  him;  he  earned  no  money  and 
nobody  gave  him  any.  Fall  and  winter  were  com- 
ing; it  did  not  look  any  too  bright  for  him.  He  had 
even  been  obliged  to  make  use  of  a  couple  of  last 
year's  suits. 

Then  all  of  a  sudden  he  amazed  everybody  by 
appearing  on  the  promenade,  rehabilitated  from  top 
to  toe  in  an  elegant  fall  suit,  with  tan  gloves  and 
money  in  his  pockets,  distinguished  and  elegant  as 
the  old  and  only  Irgens.  People  looked  at  him 
admiringly.  Devil  of  a  chap — he  was  unique!  What 
kind  of  a  diamond  mine  had  he  discovered?  Oh, 
there  was  a  head  on  these  shoulders,  a  superior 
talent!  He  had  been  obliged  to  move  from  his 
former  apartments  on  Thranes  Road.  Certainly; 
but  what  of  it?  He  had  taken  other  apartments 
in  the  residential  district — elegant  apartments,  fine 
view,  furniture  upholstered  in  leather!  He  simply 

313 


314  SHALLOW  SOIL 

couldn't  have  stood  it  much  longer  in  the  old  lodg- 
ings; his  best  moods  were  constantly  being  spoiled; 
he  suffered.  It  was  necessary  to  pay  a  little  atten- 
tion to  one's  surroundings  if  one  cared  to  produce 
good  work.  Miss  Lynum  had  come  to  town  a  week 
ago  and  was  going  to  remain  awhile;  she  made  him 
feel  like  a  new  man.  How  the  whole  town  burst 
into  bloom  and  colour  when  Aagot  returned! 

It  had  all  been  decided:  they  were  going  to  get 
married  next  spring  and  pin  then*  faith  to  next 
year's  subsidy.  It  would  seem  that  he  must  be 
recognised  sometime,  especially  now  when  he  was 
going  to  found  a  family  and  was  publishing  a  new 
collection  of  poems.  They  couldn't  starve  him  to 
death  entirely;  hardly  that!  And  Irgens  had  ap- 
proached Attorney  Grande,  who  had  approached  the 
Minister  personally  in  regard  to  next  year's  subsidy. 
"You  know  my  circumstances,"  he  had  said  to 
Grande.  "I  am  not  well  off,  but  if  you  will  speak  to 
the  Minister  I  shall  be  much  obliged  to  you.  Per- 
sonally, I  will  do  nothing.  I  cannot  stoop  to  that! " 
Grande  was  a  man  whom  Irgens  otherwise  honoured 
with  his  contempt.  But  it  could  not  be  helped; 
this  brainless  Attorney  began  to  have  influence; 
he  had  been  appointed  on  a  royal  commission  and 
had  even  been  interviewed  by  the  Gazette. 

When  Tidemand  told  Ole  that  he  had  seen  Aagot 
on  the  street  it  gave  him  a  fearful  shock.  But  he 
recovered  himself  quickly  and  said  with  a  smile: 


FINALE  315 

"Well,  how  does  that  concern  me?  Let  her  be 
here  as  much  as  she  likes;  I  have  no  objections.  I 
have  other  things  to  worry  about."  He  forced 
himself  to  renewed  interest  in  the  conversation, 
talked  about  Tidemand's  new  orders  for  tar,  and 
said  repeatedly:  "Be  sure  to  have  the  cargo  well 
insured;  it  never  hurts!"  He  was  a  little  nervous 
but  otherwise  normal. 

They  drank  a  glass  of  wine  as  of  old.  A  couple  of 
hours  went  by  while  they  chatted  cosily,  and  when 
Tidemand  left  Ole  said,  full  of  gratitude: 

"I  am  awfully  glad  that  you  came  to  see  me.  I 
know  you  have  enough  to  do  besides  this —  Listen," 
he  continued;  "let  us  go  to  the  farewell  performance 
of  the  opera  this  evening;  I  want  you  to  come!" 
And  the  serious  young  man  with  the  hollow  eyes 
looked  as  if  he  were  exceedingly  anxious  to  attend 
that  performance.  He  even  said  he  had  looked 
forward  to  it  for  several  days. 

Tidemand  promised  to  come;  Ole  said  that  he 
would  get  the  tickets. 

No  sooner  had  Tidemand  left  the  office  than  Ole 
telephoned  for  the  tickets  he  wanted — three  tickets 
together,  11,  12,  and  13.  He  was  going  to  take 
No.  12  to  Mrs.  Hanka,  to  her  room  near  the  Fortress. 
She  would  surely  want  to  come,  for  nobody  could 
be  fonder  of  the  opera  than  she  used  to  be.  He 
rubbed  his  hands  in  satisfaction  as  he  walked  along — 
No.  12;  she  should  sit  between  them.  He  would 


316  SHALLOW  SOIL 

keep  No.  13  for  himself;  that  was  a  proper  number 
for  him,  a  most  unlucky  number. 

He  walked  faster  and  faster  and  forgot  his  own 
misery.  He  was  done  and  through  with  it  all;  his 
sufferings  lay  behind;  he  had  recovered  fully.  Had 
he  been  so  very  much  shaken  because  Aagot  had 
come  to  town?  Not  at  all;  it  had  not  affected  him 
in  the  least. 

And  Ole  walked  on.  He  knew  Mrs.  Hanka's 
address  well;  more  than  once  had  he  taken  her 
home  when  she  had  called  on  him  secretly,  asking 
for  news  about  the  children.  And  had  he  not  found 
Tidemand  outside  her  windows  that  night  he  re- 
turned from  England?  How  their  thoughts  were 
ever  busy  with  each  other!  With  him  it  was  dif- 
ferent; he  had  forgotten  his  experience  and  did  not 
think  of  such  things  any  more. 

But  when  he  inquired  for  Mrs.  Hanka  he  was 
told  that  she  had  gone  away  for  a  couple  of  days; 
she  had  gone  to  the  country  house.  She  would  be 
back  to-morrow. 

He  listened  and  did  not  understand  at  once.  The 
country  house?  Which  country  house? 

Of  course,  yes;  Tidemand's  country  house.  Ole 
glanced  at  his  watch.  No;  it  was  too  late  to  try 
and  get  Mrs.  Hanka  back  to-day.  What  reason 
could  he  have  given,  anyway?  He  had  wanted  to 
surprise  them  both  with  his  little  scheme,  but  now 
it  had  become  impossible.  Alas,  how  everything 
turned  out  badly  for  him  of  late! 


FINALE  317 

Ole  turned  back. 

To  the  country  house!  How  she  haunted  the  old 
places!  She  had  been  unable  to  resist;  she  had  to  see 
once  more  that  house  and  these  grounds,  although 
the  leaves  were  almost  gone  and  the  garden  was 
desolate.  Oh!  Aagot  had  intended  to  spend  the 
summer  there  if  everything  had  turned  out  all  right. 
Well,  that  was  another  matter,  something  that  did 
not  concern  him  in  the  least. 

Ole  was  weary  and  disappointed.  He  decided  to 
go  to  Tidemand  at  once  and  tell  him  everything. 
He  had  meant  it  for  the  best. 

"We  shall  have  to  go  alone  after  all,"  he  said. 
"I  really  have  a  ticket  for  your  wife,  though." 

Tidemand  changed  colour. 

"You  have?"  he  simply  said. 

"Yes,  I  had  planned  to  have  her  sit  between  us; 
perhaps  I  ought  to  have  told  you  beforehand;  but 
any  way,  she  has  gone  away  and  won't  be  back  till 
to-morrow." 

"Is  that  so?"  said  Tidemand  as  before. 

"Listen,  you  mustn't  be  angry  with  me  because 
of  this!  If  you  only  knew —  Your  wife  has  called 
on  me  quite  frequently  of  late;  she  asks  about  you 
and  the  children " 

"That  is  all  right." 

"What?" 

"I  say,  that  is  all  right.  But  why  do  you  tell  me 
this?1' 

Then  Ole's  anger  blazed  forth;  he  stuck  his  face 


318  SHALLOW  SOIL 

close  up  to  Tidemand's  and  shouted  furiously,  in  a 
shrill  voice: 

"I  want  to  tell  you  something,  damn  you — you 
don't  understand  your  own  welfare!  You  are  a 
fool,  you  are  killing  her — that  will  be  the  end  of  it. 
And  you  are  doing  your  very  best  to  go  the  same 
way  yourself — don't  you  think  I  see  it?  'That  is 
all  right' — so  it  is  all  right  for  her  to  steal  down  to 
me  when  darkness  falls  and  ask  about  you  and  the 
children  with  the  tears  dripping  from  her  eyes?  Do 
you  for  a  moment  imagine  it  is  for  your  sake  I  have 
been  inquiring  about  your  health  these  last  months? 
Why  should  I  ask  if  not  for  her?  You  personally 
can  go  to  the  devil  as  far  as  I  am  concerned.  You 
say  nothing;  you  cannot  understand  that  she  is 
wearing  her  heart  away  for  you.  I  saw  her  outside 
your  office  once  at  midnight,  saying  good  night  to 
you  and  to  the  children.  She  wept  and  blew  kisses 
to  Johanna  and  Ida;  she  tiptoed  up-stairs  and 
caressed  the  door-knob  because  your  hand  had  held 
it  a  moment  before.  I  have  seen  this  several  times 
from  the  corner.  I  suppose  you  will  say  that  'that 
is  all  right/  too;  for  your  heart  must  be  petrified — 
Well,  perhaps  I  shouldn't  say  that  your  heart  is 
exactly  petrified,"  added  Ole  repentantly  when  at 
last  he  noticed  Tidemand's  terrible  face.  "But  you 
need  not  expect  any  apology  from  me,  either.  You 
are  hardened;  that's  what  you  are!  I  tell  you, 
Hanka  wants  to  come  back!" 

Pause. 


FINALE  319 

"I  wish  to  God  she  wanted  to  come  back —  I 
mean —  Back,  you  say?  But  how?  Do  you 
know  what  has  happened?  I  do.  I  have  wanted 
to  go  to  Hanka  and  beg  her  to  come  back — beg  her 
on  my  knees,  if  necessary;  but  how  would  she  come 
back — how  would  she  come  back?  She  told  me  her- 
self—  Of  course,  it  is  nothing  much;  you  mustn't 
think  it  is  anything  bad,  anything  very  bad;  don't 
think  that  of  Hanka.  But,  anyway,  I  am  not  so 
sure  that  she  wants  to  come  back.  From  where  have 
you  got  that  idea?" 

"Well,  perhaps  I  ought  not  to  have  tried  to  in- 
terfere," said  Ole.  "But  think  of  it  anyway,  An- 
dreas; and  pardon  my  violence;  I  take  it  all  back. 
I  don't  know  how  it  is;  I  am  getting  to  be  so  hot- 
tempered  lately.  But  think  it  over.  And  let  us 
be  ready  in  an  hour  or  so." 

"So  she  still  asks  for  the  children,"  said  Tide- 
mand.  "Think  of  that!" 


VIII 

OLE  HENRIKSEN  stood  in  his  office  a  few  days 
later.  It  was  in  the  afternoon,  about  three;  the 
weather  was  clear  and  calm;  the  docks  were  busy 
as  ever. 

Ole  walked  over  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 
An  enormous  coal-steamer  was  gliding  in  from  the 
fiord;  masts  and  rigging  pointed  skyward  every- 
where; cargoes  were  being  unloaded  along  the 
wharves.  Suddenly  he  started;  the  yacht  was 
gone!  He  opened  his  eyes  wide.  Among  all  the 
hundreds  of  mastheads  none  were  golden. 

He  wanted  to  go  out  and  look  into  this,  but 
paused  at  the  door.  He  went  back  to  his  desk 
again,  leaned  his  head  on  his  hands,  and  reflected. 
In  reality  the  yacht  did  not  belong  to  him  any  more; 
it  was  hers,  Miss  Lynum's;  he  had  given  it  to  her, 
and  the  papers  were  in  her  keeping.  She  had  not 
returned  these  papers  together  with  the  ring;  she 
might  have  forgotten  it — how  could  he  know?  Any- 
way, the  yacht  was  hers;  he  had  nothing  to  do  with 
it.  But  if  it  had  been  stolen?  Well,  even  that  was 
no  affair  of  his. 

Ole  took  up  his  pen  again,  but  only  for  a  few  mo- 

320 


FINALE  321 

ments.  Dear  me,  she  used  to  sit  there  on  the  sofa 
and  sew  so  busily  on  the  little  cushions!  They  had 
been  so  cute  and  tiny  that  it  was  almost  absurd. 
There  she  used  to  sit;  he  could  see  her  still.  .  .  . 

And  Ole  wrote  again. 

Then  he  opened  the  door  and  called  out  to  the 
clerks  that  the  yacht  had  disappeared;  what  had 
happened? 

One  of  the  clerks  informed  him  that  the  yacht 
had  been  removed  this  morning  by  two  men  from 
a  lawyer's  office;  she  was  anchored  outside  the 
Fortress  now. 

"Which  lawyer?"  asked  Ole. 

The  clerk  didn't  know. 

Ole  grew  curious.  The  yacht  was  not  his  any 
more,  of  course;  but  Miss  Lynum  had  no  business 
with  a  lawyer  either;  there  must  be  a  misunder- 
standing somewhere.  And  straightway  he  went 
down  to  the  Fortress  landing  and  made  inquiries 
for  a  couple  of  hours.  Finally  he  learned  the  name 
of  the  lawyer  and  went  to  his  office. 

He  saw  a  man  of  his  own  age  and  asked  a  few 
guarded  questions. 

Yes,  it  was  quite  true;  he  had  orders  to  sell  the 
yacht;  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  already  advanced 
a  thousand  crowns  on  it.  Here  were  the  papers; 
Irgens  had  left  them  with  him,  the  poet  Irgens.  He 
hoped  there  were  no  objections? 

None  at  all. 


322  SHALLOW  SOIL 

The  lawyer  grew  more  and  more  polite  and 
cordial;  he  probably  knew  everything  about  the 
whole  matter,  but  he  did  not  betray  his  knowledge. 
How  much  was  the  yacht  worth,  did  Mr.  Henriksen 
think?  Irgens  had  come  to  him  with  a  request 
that  he  take  charge  of  this  transaction;  he  had  said 
that  he  needed  some  money  at  once,  and  of  course 
one  had  to  stretch  a  point  where  a  man  like  Irgens 
was  concerned.  Unfortunately,  our  men  of  talent 
were  not  rewarded  any  too  liberally,  as  a  rule;  but 
if  there  was  the  least  objection  to  this  sale  he  would 
try  his  best  to  arrange  everything  satisfactorily. 

And  Ole  said  again  that  there  was  none;  he  had 
simply  missed  the  yacht  and  wondered  what  had 
become  of  it.  And  he  left. 

Now  it  had  become  clear  why  Irgens  suddenly 
had  blossomed  forth  in  gay  plumage,  rejuvenated 
from  top  to  toe!  The  whole  town  was  talking  about 
it;  however,  nobody  knew  the  real  source  of  his 
affluence.  That  she  should  do  such  a  thing!  Didn't 
she  understand  that  this  was  dishonourable,  dis- 
graceful? On  the  other  hand,  why  was  it  so  dis- 
graceful? Her  possessions  were  his;  they  shared 
lovingly;  there  was  nothing  to  say  to  that.  In 
God's  name,  let  her  act  as  she  thought  right  and 
proper.  She  was  in  town  now;  she  was  going  to 
take  a  course  in  the  School  of  Industries.  It  was 
quite  natural  that  she  should  realise  on  that  bit  of  a 
yacht.  Could  anybody  blame  her  because  she 


FINALE  323 

helped  her  fiance"?  On  the  contrary,  it  reflected 
credit  on  her.  .  .  .  But  she  might  not  even  know 
that  the  yacht  had  been  put  on  the  market.  Per- 
haps she  had  forgotten  both  yacht  and  documents 
and  did  not  care  what  became  of  them.  At  any 
rate,  she  had  not  wanted  to  sell  the  yacht  simply  to 
raise  money  on  her  own  account — never;  he  knew  her 
too  well.  She  had  done  it  for  somebody  else's  sake; 
that  was  she.  And  that  was  the  important  point. 

He  remembered  her  so  distinctly:  her  fair  curls, 
her  nose,  her  dimple;  she  would  be  nineteen  on  the 
seventh  of  December.  Never  mind  the  yacht; 
that  didn't  matter.  He  might  have  wished  to  save 
the  cushions,  but  it  would  probably  be  too  late  for 
that. 

He  returned  to  his  office,  but  could  only  concen- 
trate his  attention  on  what  was  absolutely  neces- 
sary. He  paused  frequently  and  gazed  straight 
ahead,  lost  in  reflection.  What  if  he  should  buy 
back  the  yacht?  Would  she  mind,  perhaps?  God 
knows;  she  might  think  it  was  done  spitefully,  with 
malice  aforethought.  It  might  be  better  to  remain 
neutral.  Yes,  that  would  be  best;  what  was  the 
use  of  making  a  fool  of  himself? — Miss  Lynum  and 
he  were  through  with  each  other  for  ever.  Nobody 
should  say  that  he  collected  souvenirs  of  her. 

He  closed  the  office  as  usual  and  went  out.  The 
street  lamps  were  burning  brightly;  the  evening  was 
calm.  He  saw  a  light  in  Tidemand's  office  and 


324  SHALLOW  SOIL 

started  to  go  in;  but  he  paused  on  the  stairs  and 
reflected.  Tidemand  might  be  busy;  he  had  better 
go  on. 

Hour  after  hour  passed  by;  he  wandered  around 
as  in  a  stupor.  How  tired  and  weary  he  was!  His 
eyes  were  half-closed.  He  found  himself  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  park.  He  turned  and  strode  toward 
the  hills  behind  the  city.  He  sat  down  on  a  stoop 
to  rest.  By  and  by  he  looked  at  his  watch;  it  was 
half  past  eleven.  And  he  sauntered  down  toward 
the  city  again.  His  mind  was  almost  a  blank. 

He  turned  aside  and  passed  by  Tivoli  and  Sara. 
What  a  walk  this  had  been!  To-night  he  was  going 
to  sleep — at  last!  Outside  Sara  he  stopped  abruptly. 
He  drew  back  in  the  shadows  slowly,  four,  six  steps; 
his  eyes  were  staring  fixedly  toward  the  entrance  to 
the  cafe.  A  cab  was  standing  outside. 

He  had  heard  Aagot's  voice;  she  came  out  with 
Irgens.  Irgens  appeared  first.  Aagot  had  been 
delayed  by  something  on  the  stairs. 

" Hurry  up,  now!"  called  Irgens. 

"Just  a  moment,  Mr.  Irgens,"  said  the  driver; 
"the  lady  is  not  quite  ready." 

"Do  you  know  me?"  asked  Irgens  in  surprise. 

"I  certainly  do,"  said  the  cabman. 

"He  knows  you!  he  knows  you!"  cried  Aagot  as 
she  stumbled  down  the  steps.  She  had  not  put  on 
her  wrap  yet;  it  was  dragging  after  her  and  she 
tripped  in  it.  Her  eyes  were  expressionless  and 


FINALE  325 

staring.  Suddenly  she  laughed.  "That  nasty  fel- 
low, Gregersen;  he  was  kicking  me  on  the  leg  all 
the  tune !  I  am  sure  I  am  black  and  blue !  Imagine, 
Irgens,  the  cabby  knows  you!" 

"  You  are  drunk,"  said  Irgens  brutally,  and  helped 
her  into  the  carriage. 

Her  hat  was  awry,  she  tried  to  get  into  her  coat 
and  she  babbled  incoherently. 

"No,  I  am  not  drunk;  I  am  only  a  little  cheerful — 
Won't  you  see  if  my  leg  is  bruised?  I  am  sure  I  am 
dripping  blood!  It  hurts,  too;  but  that  doesn't 
matter;  nothing  matters  now.  Drunk,  you  say? 
What  if  I  am?  It  is  your  fault.  I  do  everything 
for  your  sake — do  it  gladly —  Ha,  ha,  ha!  I  have  to 
laugh  when  I  think  of  that  wretched  Gregersen. 
He  told  me  he  would  write  the  most  beautiful 
article  about  me  if  I  would  only  let  him  see  where 
he  had  kicked  me.  It  is  different  if  you  see  it — 
That  was  an  awful  strong  wine;  it  makes  my  head 
swim —  And  all  those  cigarettes!" 

"Drive  on,  damn  you!"  cried  Irgens. 

And  the  carriage  rolled  off. 

Ole  stood  there  and  stared  after  the  carriage;  his 
knees  shook  under  him.  He  fumbled  convulsively 
with  his  hands  up  and  down  his  clothes,  around  his 
chest.  So  that  was  Aagot!  How  they  had  cor- 
rupted her!  how  they  had  spoiled  her!  Aagot — his 
Aagot.  .  .  . 

Ole  sat  down  on  a  stoop.   A  long  time  passed  by. 


326  SHALLOW  SOIL 

The  lamps  outside  Sara  were  extinguished;  it  grew 
very  dark.  An  officer  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder 
and  said  that  he  could  not  sit  there  and  sleep. 
Ole  looked  up  bewildered.  Of  course  not;  he  was 
going  now.  Thanks!  And  he  swayed  down  the 
street  as  if  he  were  intoxicated. 

He  reached  home  about  two  o'clock  and  entered 
his  office.  He  lit  the  lamp  and  hung  his  hat  me- 
chanically on  the  rack;  his  face  was  drawn  and  void 
of  expression.  A  long  hour  went  by  while  he  strode 
up  and  down.  Then  he  walked  over  to  his  desk 
and  commenced  to  write — letters,  documents,  brief 
lines  on  various  papers  which  he  sealed  and  filed 
away.  He  looked  at  his  watch;  it  was  half  past 
three.  He  wound  it  up  mechanically  while  he  held 
it.  He  went  out  and  mailed  a  letter  to  Tidemand 
which  he  had  just  written.  Upon  his  return  he 
took  Aagot's  letters  from  the  safe  and  loosened  the 
string  that  bound  them  together. 

He  did  not  read  any  of  these  letters;  he  carried 
them  over  to  the  fireplace  and  burned  them  one  by 
one.  The  last,  the  very  last  one,  he  pulled  halfway- 
out  of  its  envelope  and  looked  at  it  a  moment; 
then  he  burned  also  that,  without  taking  out  the 
ring. 

The  little  clock  on  the  wall  struck  four.  A  steam- 
er's whistle  sounded.  Ole  went  away  from  the  fire- 
place. His  face  was  full  of  anguish;  every  feature 
was  distorted;  the  veins  around  his  temples  were 


FINALE  327 

swollen.    And  slowly  he  pulled  out  a  little  drawer 
in  his  desk. 

They  found  Ole  Henriksen  dead  in  the  morning; 
he  had  shot  himself.  The  lamp  was  burning  on  the 
desk;  a  few  sealed  letters  were  lying  on  the  blotter; 
he  himself  lay  stretched  on  the  floor. 

In  the  letter  to  Tidemand  he  had  asked  to  be 
forgiven  because  he  could  not  come  for  the  last  time 
and  thank  him  for  his  friendship.  He  had  to  finish 
it  all  now;  he  could  not  live  another  day;  he  was 
sick  unto  death.  The  country  house  he  gave  to 
Tidemand  in  memory  of  everything.  "It  will 
probably  bring  you  more  pleasure  than  it  brought 
me,"  he  wrote;  "it  is  yours,  my  friend;  accept 
it  from  me.  Mrs.  Hanka  will  be  glad  to  have  it; 
remember  me  to  her.  And  if  you  ever  should  find 
Miss  Lynum  in  need  of  help,  be  good  to  her;  I  saw 
her  this  evening,  but  she  did  not  see  me.  I  cannot 
collect  my  thoughts  and  write  to  you  as  I  would 
like  to.  One  thing  only  is  clear  to  me,  and  that 
thing  I  will  have  to  do  in  half  an  hour." 

A  picture  of  Aagot  was  still  in  his  pocketbook; 
he  had  probably  forgotten  to  burn  it.  He  had  also 
forgotten  to  send  the  two  or  three  telegrams  he  had 
carried  in  his  pocket  since  the  previous  afternoon; 
they  were  found  on  him.  He  had  spoken  truly: 
to  him  only  one  thing  was  clear! 


IX 

PART  of  September  had  passed;  the  weather  was 
cool,  the  sky  clear  and  high;  the  city  was  free  from 
dust  and  dirt;  the  city  was  beautiful.  As  yet  no 
snow  had  fallen  on  the  mountains. 

Event  had  followed  event;  Ole  Henriksen's 
suicide  had  only  caused  a  passing  sensation.  The 
shot  down  there  in  the  young  business  man's  office 
had  not  been  followed  by  a  very  loud  or  reverberat- 
ing echo;  days  and  weeks  had  come  and  gone,  and 
nobody  mentioned  it  any  more.  Only  Tidemand 
could  not  forget. 

Tidemand  was  busier  than  ever.  He  had  to  assist 
Ole's  father  for  a  while;  the  old  man  did  not  want  to 
retire,  but  he  made  the  chief  assistant  his  partner 
and  carried  on  the  business  as  before;  he  did  not 
allow  his  sorrow  to  break  him  down.  Old  man  Hen- 
riksen  proved  that  he  was  not  too  old  to  work  when 
circumstances  required  it. 

And  Tidemand  was  unceasing  in  his  efforts.  His 
rye  was  at  last  dwindling;  he  sold  heavily  at  advan- 
cing prices  now  winter  was  approaching;  his  losses 
were  diminishing.  He  had  to  take  back  still  more  of 
his  old  employees;  he  was  shipping  tar;  to-morrow 
a  new  cargo  was  to  sail. 

328 


FINALE  329 

He  had  finished  the  preparations,  made  out  the 
papers,  taken  out  his  insurance;  it  was  all  done. 
Before  he  turned  to  something  else  he  lit  a  cigar 
and  reflected.  It  was  about  four  in  the  afternoon. 
He  went  over  to  the  window  and  looked  out.  While 
he  stood  there  a  gentle  knock  was  heard;  his  wife 
entered.  She  asked  if  she  disturbed  him;  it  was  only 
a  small  matter  of  business.  .  .  . 

She  wore  a  heavy  veil. 

Tidemand  threw  away  his  cigar.  He  had  not 
seen  her  for  weeks,  long,  weary  weeks;  one  evening 
he  had  thought  he  recognised  her  in  a  lady  whose 
walk  was  somewhat  similar  to  hers;  he  had  followed 
this  lady  a  long  time  before  he  discovered  that  he 
was  mistaken.  He  had  never  objected  to  her 
coming,  and  she  knew  it;  still,  she  did  not  come. 
She  had  probably  forgotten  both  him  and  the  chil- 
dren; it  looked  that  way.  And,  although  he  had 
strolled  around  the  streets  near  the  Fortress  many 
a  night  when  it  was  too  lonely  at  home  and  at  times 
seen  a  light  in  her  window,  her  he  had  never  seen. 
What  could  she  be  doing?  He  had  sent  her  money 
occasionally  in  order  to  hear  from  her. 

Now  she  stood  there  before  him,  only  a  few  steps 
away. 

"So  you  have  come?"  he  said  at  last. 

"Yes,  I  have  come,"  she  answered.  "I  had — 
I  wanted  to —  And  suddenly  she  commenced  to 
fumble  with  her  hand-bag;  she  brought  forth  a 


330  SHALLOW  SOIL 

package  of  money  which  she  placed  before  him  on 
the  desk.  Her  hands  trembled  so  violently  that  she 
disarranged  the  bills,  she  even  dropped  a  few;  she 
stooped  down  and  picked  them  up  and  stammered: 
"Take  it,  please;  don't  say  no!  It  is  money  which 
I  have  used  for — which  I  have  put  to  unworthy 
uses.  Spare  me  from  saying  what  I  have  used  it 
for;  it  is  too  degrading.  There  ought  to  be  much 
more,  but  I  couldn't  delay  any  longer;  there  ought 
to  be  twice  as  much,  but  I  was  too  impatient  to  wait 
until  I  could  bring  it  all.  Take  it,  please!  I  shall 
bring  you  the  rest  later;  but  I  simply  had  to  come 
to-day!" 

He  interrupted  her,  much  annoyed: 

"But  will  you  never  understand?  You  bring 
up  this  subject  of  money  for  ever!  Why  are  you 
saving  money  for  me?  I  have  all  I  need;  the  busi- 
ness is  very  profitable,  increasingly  so;  I  don't  need 
it,  I  tell  you " 

"But  this  money  is  altogether  a  different  matter," 
she  said  timidly.  "It  is  for  my  own  sake  I  give  it  to 
you.  If  I  hadn't  been  able  to  think  that  I  might 
repay  it  I  never  could  have  endured  life.  I  have 
counted  and  counted  every  day  and  waited  until  I 
should  have  enough.  I  was  wrong  in  saying  that  it 
was  only  half;  it  is  at  least  three-fourths —  Oh, 
how  I  have  suffered  under  the  disgrace " 

And  suddenly  he  understood  why  she  had  wanted 
to  bring  him  this  money.  He  took  it  and  thanked 


FINALE  331 

her.  He  did  not  know  what  to  say  except  that  it 
was  a  lot  of  money,  quite  a  lot.  But  could  she  spare 
it?  Surely?  For  he  really  would  be  glad  if  she  would 
let  him  have  it  for  the  present;  he  could  use  it  in 
the  business.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  most  for- 
tunate that  she  had  come  just  now;  he  needed  some 
money,  he  was  not  ashamed  to  confess  it.  ... 

He  watched  her  closely  and  saw  the  joy  well  up  in 
her;  her  eyes  sparkled  beneath  her  veil,  and  she  said: 

"God,  how  happy  I  am  that  I  came  to-day,  after 
all!" 

This  voice!  Oh,  this  voice!  He  remembered  it 
so  well  from  their  first  delightful  days.  He  had 
walked  around  the  edge  of  the  desk;  now  he  stepped 
back  again,  bewildered  by  her  proximity,  her  lovely 
form,  her  radiant  eyes  beneath  the  veil.  He  dropped 
his  own. 

"And  how  are  you?"  she  asked,  "and  the  chil- 
dren?" 

"Fine,  thank  you.  The  children  are  growing  out 
of  their  clothes.  We  are  all  well.  And  you?" 

"I  have  heard  nothing  from  you  for  so  long.  I 
had  intended  to  wait  until  I  could  bring  it  all  to  you, 
but  it  was  beyond  my  strength.  While  Ole  lived 
he  told  me  about  you;  but  since  I  cannot  go  to  him 
any  more  I  have  been  very  impatient.  I  was  here 
yesterday,  but  I  didn't  come  in;  I  turned  back 

Should  he  ask  her  to  go  up  to  the  children  a 
moment? 


332  SHALLOW  SOIL 

"Perhaps  you  would  like  to  go  up-stairs  a  mo- 
ment?" he  asked.  "The  children  will  be  delighted. 
I  don't  know  how  the  house  looks,  but  if  you  don't 
mind " 

"I  thank  you!" 

He  saw  how  deeply  she  was  moved,  although  she 
said  nothing  more.  She  gave  him  her  hand  in  fare- 
well. "I  hope  they  will  know  me,"  she  said. 

"I'll  be  up  in  a  moment,"  he  remarked.  "I 
haven't  much  to  do  just  now.  Perhaps  you  would 
like  to  stay  awhile?  Here  is  the  key;  you  need  not 
ring.  But  be  careful  of  their  shoes  if  you  take  them 
on  your  lap.  Well,  don't  laugh;  God  knows  if  their 
shoes  aren't  muddy!" 

Hanka  went.  He  opened  the  door  for  her  and 
followed  her  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs;  then  he  re- 
turned to  his  office. 

He  walked  over  to  the  desk,  but  he  did  not  work. 
There  she  had  stood!  She  wore  her  black  velvet 
dress  to-day;  she  was  up-stairs.  Could  he  go  up 
now?  He  did  not  hear  the  children;  they  were 
probably  in  her  lap.  He  hoped  they  had  on  their 
red  dresses. 

He  walked  up-stairs,  a  prey  to  the  strangest  emo- 
tions. He  knocked  on  the  door  as  if  it  were  some- 
body else's  home  he  was  entering.  Hanka  got  up  at 
once  when  she  saw  him. 

She  had  taken  off  her  veil;  she  flushed  deeply. 
He  could  see  now  why  she  used  a  veil.  The  joyless 


FINALE  333 

days  in  her  solitary  room  had  not  left  her  unmarked ; 
her  face  spoke  plainly  of  her  sufferings.  Johanna 
and  Ida  stood  beside  her  and  clung  to  her  dress; 
they  did  not  remember  her  clearly;  they  looked  at 
her  questioningly  and  were  silent. 

"They  don't  know  me,"  said  Mrs.  Hanka,  and 
sat  down  again.  "I  have  asked  them." 

"Yes,  I  know  you,"  said  Johanna,  and  crawled 
up  into  her  lap.  Ida  did  the  same. 

Tidemand  looked  at  them  unsteadily. 

"You  mustn't  crawl  all  over  mamma,  children," 
he  said.  "Don't  bother  mamma  now." 

They  didn't  hear  him;  they  wanted  to  bother 
mamma.  She  had  rings  on  her  fingers  and  she  had 
the  strangest  buttons  on  her  dress;  that  was  some- 
thing to  interest  them!  They  began  to  chatter 
about  these  buttons;  they  caught  sight  of  the 
mother's  brooch  and  had  many  remarks  to  make 
about  that. 

"Put  them  down  when  you  are  tired  of  them," 
said  Tidemand. 

Tired?    She?    Let  them  be,  let  them  be! 

They  spoke  about  Ole;  they  mentioned  Aagot. 
Tidemand  wanted  to  look  her  up  some  day.  Ole 
had  asked  him  to  do  it;  he  felt,  in  a  way,  responsible 
for  her.  But  the  nurse  came  and  wanted  to  put  the 
children  to  bed. 

However,  the  children  had  no  idea  of  going  to 
bed;  they  refused  pointblank.  And  Hanka  had  to 


334  SHALLOW  SOIL 

come  along,  follow  them  into  their  bed-room,  and 
get  them  settled  for  the  night.  She  looked  around. 
Everything  was  as  it  used  to  be.  There  were  the 
two  little  beds,  the  coverlets,  the  tiny  pillows,  the 
picture-books,  the  toys.  And  when  they  were  in 
bed  she  had  to  sing  to  them;  they  simply  wouldn't 
keep  still  but  crawled  out  of  bed  continually  and 
chattered  on. 

Tidemand  watched  this  awhile  with  blinking  eyes; 
then  he  turned  quickly  away  and  went  out. 

In  half  an  hour  or  so  Hanka  came  back. 

"They  are  asleep  now,"  she  said. 

"I  was  wondering  if  I  might  ask  you  to  stay," 
said  Tidemand.  "We  live  rather  informally  here; 
we  keep  house  in  a  way,  but  nothing  seems  to  go 
right  for  us.  If  you  would  like  to  have  dinner 
with  us —  I  don't  know  what  they  are  going  to 
give  us  to  eat,  but  if  you  will  take  things  as  they 
are?" 

She  looked  at  him  shyly,  like  a  young  girl;  she 
said:  "Thank  you." 

After  dinner,  when  they  had  returned  to  the 
drawing-room,  Hanka  said  suddenly: 

"Andreas,  you  mustn't  think  I  came  here  to-day 
thinking  that  everything  could  be  well  again  with 
us.  Don't  think  that.  I  simply  came  because  I 
couldn't  wait  any  longer;  I  had  to  see  you  again." 

"I  have  not  thought  of  that  at  all,"  he  said.  "But 
it  seems  the  children  don't  want  to  let  you  go." 


FINALE  335 

"I  have  no  thought  of  asking  you  again  what  I 
asked  you  for  once,"  she  said.  "That  would  be  im- 
possible; I  know  it  too  well.  But  perhaps  you  would 
allow  me  to  come  and  visit  you  at  times?" 

Tidemand  bowed  his  head.  She  had  no  thought 
of  coming  back;  it  was  all  over. 

"Come  whenever  you  like;  come  every  day,"  he 
said.  "You  are  not  coming  to  see  me." 

"Oh,  yes,  to  see  you  also.  I  think  of  you  with 
every  breath.  Ever  since  that  sail  last  summer;  it 
began  then.  You  have  changed  and  so  have  I. 
But  that  is  neither  here  nor  there.  I  have  seen  you 
on  the  streets  oftener  than  you  know;  I  have  fol- 
lowed you  at  times." 

He  rose  and  went  in  his  confusion  over  to  the 
barometer  on  the  wall;  he  examined  it  carefully 
and  tapped  the  tube. 

"But  in  that  case —  I  don't  understand  why  it 
is  necessary  to  live  apart.  I  mean —  Things  are 
in  a  sad  state  of  disorder  here;  and  then  there  are 
the  children " 

"I  didn't  come  for  that!"  she  exclaimed.  "Yes, 
I  did,  in  a  way;  of  course  I  did;  but —  I  am  afraid 
you  will  never  be  able  to  forget —  Oh,  no.  I  can- 
not expect  that " 

She  took  her  wraps. 

"Don't  go!"  he  called.  "You  have  never  been 
out  of  my  thoughts,  either.  As  far  as  that  goes,  I 
am  as  much  to  blame  as  you,  and  it  is  true  that  I 


336  SHALLOW  SOIL 

have  changed.  I  am,  perhaps,  a  little  different  now. 
But  here  is  your  room  just  as  before.  Come  and 
see!  We  haven't  touched  a  single  thing.  And  if 
you  would  stay —  By  the  way,  I  am  afraid  I  shall 
have  to  stay  in  the  office  all  night.  I  am  almost 
sure  there  is  a  lot  of  mail  to  attend  to.  But  your 
room  is  just  as  when  you  left  it.  Come  and  see!" 
He  had  opened  the  door.  She  came  over  and 
peeped  in.  The  lamp  was  lit.  She  looked  at  every- 
thing and  entered.  He  really  wanted  to,  after  all, 
after  all!  She  could  stay;  he  had  said  so;  he  took 
her  back!  She  stood  there  timidly  and  said  nothing; 
then  their  eyes  met.  He  flung  his  arms  around  her 
and  kissed  her,  as  he  had  kissed  her  the  first  time,  all 
these  many  years  ago.  Her  eyes  closed  and  he  felt 
suddenly  the  pressure  of  her  arms  around  his  neck. 


AND  morning  came. 

The  city  woke  up  and  the  hammers  danced  their 
ringing  dance  along  the  shipyards.  Through  the 
streets  the  farmers'  wagons  rolled  hi  a  slow  pro- 
cession. It  is  the  same  story.  The  squares  are 
filling  with  people  and  supplies,  stores  are  opened, 
the  roar  increases,  and  up  and  down  the  stairs  skips 
a  slip  of  a  girl  with  her  papers  and  her  dog. 

It  is  the  same  story. 

It  is  twelve  before  people  begin  to  group  themselves 
on  the  "  corner,"  young  and  carefree  gentlemen  who 
can  afford  to  sleep  late  and  do  what  they  feel  like. 
There  are  a  few  from  the  well-known  clique,  Milde 
and  Norem  and  Ojen.  It  is  cold,  and  they  are 
shivering.  The  conversation  is  not  very  lively. 
Even  when  Irgens  appears,  in  high  spirits  and  ele- 
gant attire,  as  befits  the  best-dressed  man  in  town, 
nobody  grows  very  enthusiastic.  It  is  too  early  and 
too  chilly;  in  a  few  hours  it  will  be  different.  Ojen 
had  said  something  about  his  latest  prose  poem;  he 
had  half-finished  it  last  night.  It  was  called  "A 
Sleeping  City."  He  had  begun  to  write  on  coloured 

paper;  he  had  found  this  very  soothing.    Imagine, 

337 


338  SHALLOW  SOIL 

he  says,  the  heavy,  ponderous  quiet  over  a  city 
asleep;  only  its  breathing  is  heard  like  an  open 
sluice  miles  away.  It  takes  time;  hours  elapse,  a 
seeming  eternity;  then  the  brute  begins  to  stir,  to 
wake  up.  Wasn't  this  rather  promising? 

And  Milde  thinks  it  very  promising;  he  has  made 
his  peace  with  Ojen  long  ago.  Milde  is  busy  on  his 
caricatures  to  "Norway's  Dawn."  He  had  really 
drawn  a  few  very  funny  caricatures  and  made  ruin- 
ous fun  of  the  impossible  poem. 

Norem  said  nothing. 

Suddenly  Lars  Paulsberg  bobs  up;  with  him  is 
Gregersen.  The  group  is  growing;  everybody  takes 
notice;  so  much  is  gathered  here  in  a  very  small 
space.  Literature  is  in  the  ascendant;  literature 
dominates  the  entire  sidewalk.  People  turn  back  in 
order  to  get  a  good  look  at  these  six  gentlemen  in 
ulsters  and  great-coats.  Milde  also  attracts  atten- 
tion; he  has  been  able  to  afford  an  entirely  new  out- 
fit. He  says  nothing  about  Australia  now. 

At  two  the  life  and  traffic  has  risen  to  its  high- 
water  mark;  movement  everywhere,  people  prom- 
enade, drive  in  carriages,  gossip ;  engines  are  breath- 
ing stertorously  in  the  far  distance.  A  steamer 
whistles  in  the  harbour,  another  steamer  answers 
with  a  hoarse  blast;  flags  flutter,  barges  swim  back 
and  forth;  sails  rattle  aloft  and  sails  are  furled. 
Here  and  there  an  anchor  splashes;  the  anchor- 
chains  tear  out  of  the  hawse-holes  in  a  cloud  of  rust. 


FINALE  339 

The  sounds  mingle  in  a  ponderous  harmony  which 
rolls  in  over  the  city  like  a  jubilant  chorus. 

Tidemand's  tar  steamer  was  ready  to  weigh  an- 
chor. He  had  come  down  himself  to  see  it  off. 
Hanka  was  with  him;  they  stood  there  quietly  arm 
in  arm.  They  glanced  at  each  other  every  few  mo- 
ments with  eyes  that  were  filled  with  youth  and 
happiness;  the  harbour  saluted  them  with  a  swirl  of 
flags.  When  the  steamer  at  last  was  under  way, 
Tidemand  swung  his  hat  in  the  air  and  Hanka  waved 
with  her  handkerchief.  Somebody  on  the  ship  waved 
back  a  greeting.  The  steamer  slid  quietly  out  into 
the  fiord. 

"Shall  we  go?"  he  asked. 

And  she  clung  to  him  closer,  and  said:  "As  you 
will." 

Just  then  another  steamer  entered  the  harbour, 
an  enormous  leviathan  from  whose  funnels  smoke 
poured  in  billowy  masses.  Tidemand  had  goods 
aboard;  he  had  been  waiting  for  this  steamer  the 
last  two  days,  and  he  said  in  great  good  humour: 

"She  is  also  bringing  us  goods!" 

"Yes?"  she  answered  quietly.  But  he  felt,  as 
she  looked  into  his  face,  that  a  quivering  joy  shot 
through  her  being;  her  arm  trembled  hi  his. 

And  they  went  home. 


A  SELECTION  FROM 
DUCKWORTH  &f  CO.'S 
LIST  OF  PUBLICATIONS 


3  HENRIETTA  STREET,  COVENT  GARDEN 
LONDON,  W.C. 


DUCKWORTH    &    CO.'S 
PUBLICATIONS 

ANIMAL  LIFE  AND  WILD  NATURE 
(STORIES  OF). 

Uniform  binding^  large  cr.  Svo.     6s.  net. 

UNDER  THE  ROOF  OF  THE  JUNGLE.  A  Book  of  Animal  Life 
in  the  Guiana  Wilds.  Written  and  illustrated  by  Charles 
Livingston  Bull.  With  60  full-page  plates  drawn  from 
Life  by  the  Author. 

THE  KINDRED  OF  THE  WILD.  A  Book  of  Animal  Life.  By 
Charles  G.  D.  Roberts,  Professor  of  Literature,  Toronto 
University,  late  Deputy-Keeper  of  Woods  and  Forests, 
Canada.  With  many  illustrations  by  Charles  Livingston 
Bull. 

THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  TRAILS.  A  Book  of  Animal  Life. 
By  Charles  G.  D.  Roberts.  With  48  illustrations  by 
Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

THE  STORY  OF  RED  Fox.  A  Biography.  By  Charles  G.  D. 
Roberts.  Illustrated  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

THE  HAUNTERS  OF  THE  SILENCES.  A  Book  of  Wild  Nature. 
By  Charles  G.  D.  Roberts.  Illustrated  by  Charles 
Livingston  Bull. 

BOOKS  ON  ART. 

ART — THE  LIBRARY  OF}  embracing  Painting,  Sculpture,  Archi- 
tecture, etc.  Edited  by  Mrs  S.  Arthur  Strong,  LL.D. 
Extra  cloth,  with  lettering  and  design  in  gold.  Large 
cr.  Bvo  (7!  in.  x  5!  in.),  gilt  top,  headband.  $s.  net  a 
volume.  Inland  postage,  $d. 

LIST  OF  VOLUMES 

DONATELLO.     By  Lord  Balcarres,  M.P.     With  58  plates. 
GREAT  MASTERS  OF  DUTCH   AND  FLEMISH   PAINTING.      By  Di 
W.  Bode.     With  48  plates. 


DUCKWORTH  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS          3 

REMBRANDT.    By  G.  Baldwin  Brown,  of  the  University  of  Edinburgh. 

With  45  plates. 

ANTONIO  POLLAIUOLO.     By  Maud  Cruttwell.    With  50  plates. 
VERROCCHIO.     By  Maud  Cruttwell.     With  48  plates. 
THE    LIVES    OF    THE    BRITISH    ARCHITECTS.      By   E.    Beresford 

Chancellor.     With  45  plates. 
THE  SCHOOL  OF  MADRID.     By  A.  de  Beruete  y  Moret.     With  48 

plates. 

WILLIAM  BLAKE.     By  Basil  de  Selincourt.     With  40  plates. 
GIOTTO.     By  Basil  de  Jelincourt.     With  44  plates. 
FRENCH  PAINTING  IN  THE  SIXTEENTH  CENTURY.    By  L.  Dimier. 

With  50  plates. 

THE  SCHOOL  OF  FERRARA.    By  Edmund  G.  Gardner.    With  50  plates. 
Six   GREEK   SCULPTORS.      (Myron,   Pheidias,   Polykleitos,   Skopas, 

Praxiteles,  and  Lysippos.)     By  Ernest  Gardner.     With  8l  plates. 
TITIAN.     By  Dr  Georg  Gronau.     With  54  plates. 
CONSTABLE.     By  M.  Sturge  Henderson.     With  48  plates. 
PISANELLO.     By  G.  F.  Hill.     With  50  plates. 
MICHAEL  ANGELO.     By  Sir  Charles  Holroyd.     With  52  plates. 
MEDIEVAL   ART.     By   W.   R.    Lethaby.     With  66  plates  and    120 

drawings  in  the  text. 
THE  SCOTTISH  SCHOOL  OF  PAINTING.    By  William  D.   McKay, 

R.S.A.     With  46  plates. 

CHRISTOPHER  WREN.    By  Lena  Milman.   With  upwards  of  60  plates. 
CORREGGIO.     By  T.  Sturge  Moore.     With  55  plates. 
ALBERT  DURER.     By  T.  Sturge  Moore.     With  4  copperplates  and  50 

half-tone  engravings. 

SIR  WILLIAM  BRECHEY,  R.A.     By  W.  Roberts.     With  49  plates. 
THE  SCHOOL  OF  SEVILLE.     By  N.  Sentenach.     With  50  plates. 
ROMAN  SCULPTURE  FROM  AUGUSTUS  TO  CONSTANTINE.    By  Mrs 

S.  Arthur  Strong,  LL.D.,  Editor  of  the  Series,     2  vols.     With 

130  plates. 

ART,  THE  POPULAR  LIBRARY  OF.  Pocket  volumes  of  biogra- 
phical and  critical  value  on  the  great  painters,  with  very 
many  reproductions  of  the  artists'  works.  Each  volume 
averages  200  pages,  i6mo,  with  from  40  to  50  illustrations. 
To  be  had  in  different  styles  of  binding :  Boards  gilt,  is. 
net ;  green  canvas  and  red  cloth  gilt,  2s.  net;  limp  lamb- 
skin, red  and  green,  25.  6d.  net.  Several  titles  can  also 
be  had  in  the  popular  Persian  yapp  binding,  in  box, 
2$.  6d.  net  each. 

LIST  OF  VOLUMES. 

BOTTICELLI.     By  Julia  Cartwright  (Mrs  Ady).     Also  in  Persian  yapp 

binding. 
RAPHAEL.     By  Julia  Cartwright  (Mrs  Ady).      Also  in  Persian  yapp 

binding. 

a* 


4          DUCKWORTH  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS 

FREDERICK  WALKER.     By  Clementina  Black. 

REMBRANDT.     By  Auguste  Breal. 

VELAZQUEZ.     By  Auguste  Breal.     Also  in  Persian  yapp  binding. 

GAINSBOROUGH.     By  Arthur  B.  Chamberlain.     Also  in  Persian  yapp 

binding. 

CRUIKSHANK.     By  W.  H.  Chesson. 
BLAKE.     By  G.  K.  Chesterton. 

G.  F.  WATTS.     By  G.  K.  Chesterton.     Also  in  Persian  yapp  binding. 
ALBRECHT  DURER.     By  Lina  Eckenstein. 
THE  ENGLISH  WATER-COLOUR  PAINTERS.     By  A.  J.  Finberg.     Also 

in  Persian  yapp  binding. 
HOGARTH.     By  Edward  Garnett. 
LEONARDO  DA  VINCI.     By  Dr  Georg  Gronau.     Also  in  Persian  yapp 

binding. 

HOLBEIN.     By  Ford  Madox  Hueffer. 

ROSSETTI.     By  Ford  Madox  Hueffer.    Also  in  Persian  yapp  binding. 
THE  PRE-RAPHAELITE  BROTHERHOOD.     By  Ford  Madox  Hueffer. 

Also  in  Persian  yapp  binding. 
PERUGINO.     By  Edward  Hutton. 

MILLET.     By  Remain  Rolland.     Also  in  Persian  yapp  binding. 
WATTKAU.     By  Camille  Mauclair. 
THE  FRENCH   IMPRESSIONISTS.      By   Camille   Mauclair.      Also   in 

Persian  yapp  binding. 
WHISTLER.     By  Bernhard  Sickert.     Also  in  Persian  yapp  binding. 

AMELUNG,  WALTHER,  AND  HOLTZINGER,  HEINRICH.  The 
Museums  and  Ruins  of  Rome.  A  Guide  Book.  Edited 
by  Mrs  S.  Arthur  Strong,  LL.D.  With  264  illustrations 
and  map  and  plans.  2  vols.  New  and  cheaper  re-issue. 
Fcap.  8vo.  $s.  net. 

BURNS,  REV.  J.  Sermons  in  Art  by  the  Great  Masters. 
Cloth  gilt,  photogravure  frontispiece  and  many  illustra- 
tions. Cr.  &vo.  6s.  Or  bound  in  parchment,  55.  net. 

The  Christ  Face  in  Art.     With  60  illustrations  in  tint. 

Cr.  &vo,  cloth  gilt.    6s.     Or  bound  in  parchment,  5*.  net. 

BUSSY,  DOROTHY.  Eugene  Delacroix.  A  Critical  Apprecia- 
tion. With  26  illustrations.  New  and  cheaper  re-issue. 
Cr.  8vo.  2s.  6d.  net. 

CAROTTI,    GIULIO.      A   History   of  Art.      English   edition, 
edited    by    Mrs   S.    Arthur    Strong,    LL.D.      In    four 
volumes,  with  very  numerous  illustrations  in  each  volume. 
Small  cr.  8v0.     $s.  net  each  volume. 
Vol.      I. — ANCIENT  ART.     500  illustrations. 
Vol.    II. — MIDDLE  AGES  DOWN  TO  THE  GOLDEN  AGE. 

LOWY,  EMANUEL.  The  Rendering  of  Nature  in  Early  Greek 
Art.  With  30  illustrations.  Cr.  8v0.  $s.  net, 


DUCKWORTH  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS          5 

MAUCLAIR,  CAMILLE.      Auguste  Rodin.      With  very   many 
illustrations  and  photogravure  frontispiece.     Small  4/0. 
New  and  cheaper  re-issue.     js.  6d.  net. 
Set  also  Popular  Library  of  Art  for  other  books  by  Camillt  Afauclair. 

QUIGLEY,  J.  Leandro  Ramon  Garrido:  his  Life  and  Art. 
With  26  illustrations.  Sq.  cr.  Svo.  $s.  net. 

GENERAL  LITERATURE. 

ARCHER,  WILLIAM,  and  BARKER,  H.  GRANVILLE.  A 
National  Theatre.  Schemes  and  Estimates.  By  William 
Archer  and  H.  Granville  Barker.  Cr.  4/0.  $s.  net. 

ASPINALL,  ALGERNON  E.  The  Pocket  Guide  to  the  West 
Indies.  A  New  and  Revised  Edition,  with  maps,  very 
fully  illustrated.  Fcap.  Svo.  5*.  net. 

West  Indian  Tales  of  Old.    Illustrated.    Cr.  Svo.   5 s.  net. 

AUSTIN,  SARAH.  The  Story  without  an  End.  From  the 
German  of  Carove.  Illustrated  by  Frank  C.  Pape. 
8  Illustrations  in  Colour.  Large  cr.  Svo.  Designed  end 
papers.  Cloth  gilt,  gilt  top.  In  box.  $s.  net. 

Illustrated  by  Paul  Henry.     Svo.     is.  6d.  net. 

BELLOC,  HILAIRE.  Verses.  Large  cr.  Svo.  2nd  edition. 
5*.  net. 

and  B.  T.  B.     The  Bad  Child's  Book  of  Beasts.     New 

edition.     25th  thousand.     Sq.  4/0.     is.  net. 

and  B.  T.  B.    More  Beasts  for  Worse  Children.     New 

edition.     Sq.  4/0.     is.  net. 
See  also  Readers'  Library  and  Shilling  Series  for  other  books  by  H.  Belloc. 

BOURNE,  GEORGE.  Change  in  the  Village  :  A  study  of  the 
village  of  to-day.  Cr.  Svo.  $s.  net. 

Lucy  Bettesworth.     Cr.  Svo.     6s. 

See  the  Readers'  Library  for  other  books  by  George  Bourne. 

BOUTROUX,  EMILE.    The  Beyond  that  is  Within,  and  other 
Lectures.     Fcap.  Svo.     35.  6d.  net. 
See  the  Crown  Library  for  another  book  by  Professor  Boutroux. 

BROOKE,   STOPFORD  A.      The   Onward  Cry :     Essays  and 
Sermons.  New  and  Cheaper  Editton.   Cr.  Svo.  zs.  6d.  net. 
See  also  the  Readers'  Library  and  Roadmender  Series  for  other 
books  by  Stafford  Brooke, 


6          DUCKWORTH  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS 

CHAPMAN,  HUGH  B.,  Chaplain  of  the  Savoy.  At  the  Back 
of  Things  :  Essays  and  Addresses.  Cr.  &vo.  $s.  net. 

COLLIER,  PRICE.  England  and  the  English,  from  an  Ameri- 
can point  of  view.  Demy  8v0.  JS.  6d.  net.  Also  a 
popular  edition,  with  Foreword  by  Lord  Rosebery. 
Fcap.  8vo.  2s.  6d.  net. 

The  West  in  the  East :  A  study  of  British  Rule  in  India. 

Demy  8v0.     7$.  6d.  net. 

Germany  and  the  Germans  from  an  American  Point  of 

View.     Demy  8v0,  600  pages,     'js.  6d.  net. 

COULTON,  G.  G.  From  St  Francis  to  Dante.  A  Historical 
Sketch.  Second  edition.  Demy  8v0.  i2s.  6d  net. 

CROWN  LIBRARY.  Demy  Svo,  doth  gilt,  gilt  top.  $s.  net  a 
volume. 

THE  RUBA'IYAT  OF  'UMAR  KHAYYAM   (Fitzgerald's  2nd  Edition). 

Edited,  with  an  Introduction  and  Notes,  by  Edward  Heron  Allen. 
SCIENCE  AND    RELIGION   IN    CONTEMPORARY    PHILOSOPHY.      By 

Emile  Boutroux. 
WANDERINGS  IN  ARABIA.     By  Charles  M.  Doughty.     An  abridged 

edition   of    "Travels    in   Arabia   Deserta."      With   portrait   and 

map      In  2  vols. 
FOLK-LORE  OF  THE  HOLY  LAND  :  Moslem,  Christian,  and  Jewish. 

By  J.  E.  Hanauer.     Edited  by  Marmaduke  Pickthall. 
LIFE  AND  EVOLUTION.     By  F.  W.  Headley,  F.Z.S.     With  upwards 

of  100  illustrations.    New  and  revised  edition  (1913). 
THE  NOTE-BOOKS  OF  LEONARDO  DA  VINCI.     Edited  by  Edward 

McCurdy.     With  14  illustrations. 
THE  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  OF  LESLIE  STEPHEN.     By  F.  W.  Maitland. 

With  a  photogravure  portrait. 
THE  COUNTRY  MONTH  BY  MONTH.     By  J.  A.   Owen  and  G.  S. 

Boulger.     With  20  illustrations. 

SPINOZA  :  His  Life  and  Philosophy.     By  Sir  Frederick  Pollock. 
THE  ENGLISH  UTILITARIANS.     By  Sir  Leslie  Stephen.     3  vols. 

Vol.      I.  JAMES  MILL. 

Vol.    II.  JEREMY  BENTHAM. 

Vol.  III.  JOHN  STUART  MILL. 

CRITICAL  STUDIES.     By  S.  Arthur  Strong.     With  Memoir  by  Lord 
Balcarres,  M.P.     Illustrated. 

CUTTING  CERES.  The  Praying  Girl.  Thoughtful  Religious 
Essays.  Sq.  cr.  8vo.  35.  6d.  net. 

DARWIN,  BERNARD,  AND  ROUNTREE,  HARRY.  The  Golf 
Courses  of  the  British  Isles.  48  illustrations  in  colour 
and  1 6  in  sepia.  Sq.  royal  %vo.  2  is.  net. 


DUCKWORTH  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS          7 

DE  LA  MARE,   WALTER.     The  Three   Mulla  Mulgars.     A 

Romance   of  the  Great  Forests.     With  illustrations  in 

colour.     Cr.  8w.     $s.  net. 
DESMOND,  G.   G.      The  Roll  of  the  Seasons:   a  Book  of 

Nature   Essays.      By   G.    G.    Desmond.      With   twelve 

illustrations  in  Colour.     Cr.  Svo.     $s.  net. 
DOUGHTY,  CHAS.  M.     Adam  Cast  Forth.     A  Poem  founded 

on  a  Judaeo- Arabian  Legend  of  Adam  and  Eve.    Cr.  &vo. 

4$.  6d.  net. 
—  The  Cliffs.     A  Poetic  Drama  of  the  Invasion  of  Britain 

in  19 — .     Cr.  %vo.     $s.  net. 

The  Clouds  :  a  Poem.     Large  cr.  %vo.     $s.  net. 

The  Dawn  in  Britain.    An  Epic  Poem  of  the  Beginnings 

of  Britain.     In  six  vols.     Vols.  i  and  2,  gs.  net ;  Vols.  3 

and  4,  gs.  net;  Vols.  5  and  6,  9$.  net.    The  Set,  27^.  net. 

See  ah»  Crown  Library  for  another  work  bv  C.  M.  Doughty. 
FAIRLESS,   MICHAEL.      Complete  Works.      3  vols.      In  slip 

case.     Buckram  gilt.     js.  6d.  net. 

See  also  the  Roadmender  Series. 
The  Roadmender.   Illustrated  in  Colour  by  E.  W.  Waite. 

Cloth  gilt,  gilt  top.     is.  6d.  net.     In  a  Box. 

—    Illustrated   in   photogravure   from   drawings   by 

W.  G.  Mein.     In  slip  case.     55-.  net. 
FALCONER,  REV.  HUGH.     The  Unfinished  Symphony.     New 

and  Cheaper  Edition.     Cr.  8vo.     2s.  6d.  net. 
GARDINER,   Mrs   STANLEY.     We  Two  and   Shamus :    The 

Story  of  a  Caravan  Holiday  in  Ireland.     With  illustra- 
tions.    Cr.  &vo.     $s.  net. 
GRAHAM,  R.  B.  CUNNINGHAME.     Charity.     Cr.  8vo.     6s. 

Faith.     Cr.  Svo.     6s. 

Hope.     Cr.  Svo.     6s. 

His  People.     Cr.  Bv0.     6s. 

See  also  Readers'  Library  and  Shilling  Series  for  other  books  by 
Cunninghame  Graham. 

HEADLAM,  CECIL.     Walter  Headlam :   Letters  and  Poems. 

With  Memoir  by  Cecil  Headlam.      With  photogravure 

portrait.     Demy  Svo.     ys.  6d.  net. 
HENDERSON,   ARCHIBALD.      Mark   Twain.      A    Biography. 

With  8  photographs  by  Alvin  Langdon  Coburn.     Large 

cr.  &vo.     5*.  net. 


8          DUCKWORTH  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS 

HENDERSON,  ARCHIBALD.  Interpreters  of  Life  and  the 
Modern  Spirit :  Critical  Essays.  With  a  photogravure 
portrait  of  Meredith.  Cr.  8v0.  55.  net. 

HILL,  M.  D.,  AND  WEBB,  WILFRED  MARK.  Eton  Nature- 
Study  and  Observational  Lessons.  With  numerous 
illustrations.  In  two  parts.  35.  6d.  net  each.  Also  the 
two  parts  in  one  volume,  6.y.  net. 

HUDSON,  W.  H.     A  Little  Boy  Lost.     With  30  illustrations 
by  A.  D.  McCormick.     Sq.  cr.  8vo.     3*.  6d.  net. 
See  also  Readers'  Library  and  Shilling  Series  for  ether  books  by 
W.  H.  Hudson. 

HUEFFER,  FORD  MADOX.     The  Critical  Attitude.     Literary 

Essays.     Sq.  cr.  8vo.     Buckram.     $s.  net. 
See  also  Readers'  Library  and  The  Popular  Library  of  Art  for  other 
books  by  Ford  Madox  Hueffer. 

HIGH  GERMANY  :  VERSES.  Sq.  cr.  8vo,  paper  covers. 

is.  net. 

HUGHES,  REV.  G.  Conscience  and  Criticism.  With  Fore- 
word by  the  Bishop  of  Winchester.  New  and  Cheaper 
Edition.  Cr.  8vo.  25.  6d.  net. 

HUTCHINSON,  T.  Lyrical  Ballads  by  William  Wordsworth 
and  S.  T.  Coleridge,  1798.  With  certain  poems  of  1798, 
Introduction  and  Notes.  Fcap.  8vo.  New  and  Revised 
Edition.  With  2  photogravures.  3^.  6d.  net. 

HUXLEY,  HENRIETTA.  Poems :  concluding  with  those  of 
Thomas  Henry  Huxley.  Fcap.  &vo.  Art  canvas. 
3.?.  6d.  net. 

JEFFERIES,  RICHARD.  The  Story  of  My  Heart.  By  Richard 
Jefferies.  A  New  Edition  Reset.  With  8  illustrations 
from  oil  paintings  by  Edward  W.  Waite.  Demy  8vo. 
The  pictures  mounted  with  frames  and  plate  marks. 
Designed  Cover.  Cloth  gilt,  gilt  top,  headband.  In  Box. 
75.  6d.  net. 

JOUBERT,  JOSEPH.     Joubert :  A  Selection  from  His  Thoughts. 

Translated   by  Katharine  Lyttleton,  with  a  Preface  by 

Mrs  Humphry  Ward.     New  Edition.     In  a  slip  case. 

Large  cr.  8vo.     $s.  net. 
KROPOTKIN,   PRINCE.      Ideals    and    Realities    in    Russian 

Literature.      Critical   Essays.      By   Prince    Kropotkin. 

Demy  8v0.     js.  6d.  net. 


DUCKWORTH  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS          9 

LANGLOIS,  CH.  V.,  AND  SEIGNOBOS,  CH.     An  Introduction  to 

the  Study  of  History.     New  Edition.     55.  net. 
LAWRENCE,  D.  H.    Love  Poems  and  others.    Cr.  8vo.    $s.  net, 
LE  GALLIENNE,  RICHARD.     Odes  from  the  Divan  of  Hafiz. 
Freely  rendered  from  Literal  Translations.    Large  sq.  8vo. 
In  slip  case.     ys.  6d.  net. 

LETHABY,  W.  R.     Westminster  Abbey  and  the  King's  Crafts- 
men.    With  125  illustrations,  photogravure  frontispiece, 
and  many  drawings  and  diagrams.  RoyalSvo.    i2s.6d.net. 
Westminster  Abbey  as  a  Coronation  Church.     Illus- 
trated.    Demy  Svo.     2s.  6d.  net. 

See  also  The  Library  of  Art  for  "  Mediaeval  Art"  by  W.  R.  Lethaby. 
LOVELAND,  J.  D.  E.     The  Romance  of  Nice.     A  Descriptive 
Account  of  Nice  and  its  History.     With  illustrations. 
Demy  &vo.     6s.  net. 

LYTTON,  THE   HON.  MRS  NEVILLE.     Toy  Dogs   and  their 
Ancestors.     With  300  illustrations  in  colour  collotype, 
photogravure,  and  half-tone.     4/0.     305-.  net. 
MAHAFFY,   R.  P.     Francis  Joseph  the  First :  His  Life  and 

Times.     By  R.  P.  Mahaffy.     Cr.  Svo.     zs.  6d.  net. 
MAHOMMED,   MIRZA,   AND   RICE,   C.   SPRING.      Valeh  and 

Hadijeh.     Large  sq.  Svo.     55.  net. 

MANTZIUS,  KARL.  A  History  of  Theatrical  Art  in  Ancient 
and  Modern  Times.  With  Introduction  by  William 
Archer.  In  six  volumes.  With  illustrations  from  photo- 
graphs. Royal  8v0.  i  o s.  ne t  each  vol. 

Vol.  I.— The  Earliest  Times.      Vol.  II.— Middle  Ages  and  Renais- 
sance.     Vol.  III. — Shakespeare  and  the  English  Drama  of  his 
Time.       Vol.    IV.— Moliere   and   his  Time.       Vol.   V.— Great 
Actors  of  the  i8th  Century.     Vol.  VI. — In  preparation. 
M  ARCZALI,  HENRY.  The  Letters  and  Journal,  1 848-49,  of  Count 

Charles  Leiningen-Westerburg.    Demy  %vo.    75.  6d.  net. 
MARJORAM,  JOHN.     New  Poems.     Fcap.  Svo.     2s.  net. 
MOORE,  T.  STURGE.     Poems.     Square  Svo.     Sewed,     is.  net 
a  volume. 

THE  CENTAUR'S  BOOTY. 
THE  ROUT  OF  THE  AMAZONS. 
THE  GAZELLES,  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 
PAN'S  PROPHECY. 
To  LEDA,  AND  OTHER  ODES. 
THESEUS,  AND  OTHER  ODES. 
Or,  in  one  volume,  bound  in  art  linen.     6s.  net. 

A  Sicilian  Idyll,  and  Judith.     Cloth.     2S.  net. 

Mariamne.     A  Drama.     Qr.  bound.     25.  net. 


io        DUCKWORTH  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS 

NEVILL,   RALPH,  AND  JERNINGHAM,   C.   E.      Piccadilly  to 

Pall  Mall.     Manners,  Morals,  and  Man.     With  2  photo- 
gravures.    Demy  8vo.     izs.  6d.  net. 
NEVILL,  RALPH.     Sporting  Days  and  Sporting  Ways.     With 

coloured  frontispiece.     Demy  &vo.     i2s.  6d.  net. 
The  Merry  Past.      Reminiscences  and   Anecdotes. 

With    frontispiece    in    colour    collotype.      Demy   Bvo. 

1 2S.  6d.  net. 
PAWLOWSKA,   Yoi"   (Mrs  Buckley).      A  Year   of  Strangers. 

Sketches  of  People  and  Things  in  Italy  and  in  the  Far 

East.     With  copper-plate  frontispiece.     Demy  Svv.     $s. 

net. 

See  under  Novels  for  another  book  by  this  author. 
PEAKE,  Pro/.  A.  S.     Christianity,  its  Nature  and  its  Truth. 

25//fc  Thousand.     Cr.  Svo.     zs.  6d.  net. 
PHILLIPPS,   L.   MARCH.     The  Works  of  Man.      Studies  of 

race  characteristics  as  revealed  in  the  creative  art  of  the 

world.     Cr.  Svo.     "js.  6d.  net. 
PLAYS,  MODERN.     Cloth,     zs.  net  a  volume. 

THE  REVOLT  AND  THE  ESCAPE.     By  Villiers  de  L'Isle  Adam. 

HKRNANI.     A  Tragedy.     By  Frederick  Brock. 

TRISTRAM  AND  ISEULT.     A  Drama.     By  J.  Comyns  Carr. 

PASSERS-BY.     By  C.  Haddon  Chambers. 

THE  LIKENESS  OF  THE  NIGHT.     By  Mrs  W.  K.  Clifford. 

THE  SILVER  Box.     By  John  Galsworthy. 

JOY.     By  John  Galsworthy. 

STRIFE.     By  John  Galsworthy. 

JUSTICE.     By  John  Galsworthy. 

THE  ELDEST  SON.     By  John  Galsworthy. 

THE  LITTLE  DREAM.     By  John  Galsworthy,     (is.6d.net.) 

THE  PIGEON.     By  John  Galsworthy. 

THE  COMING  OF  PEACE.     By  Gerhart  Hauptmann. 

LOVE'S  COMEDY.     By  Henrik  Ibsen. 

THE  DIVINE  GIFT.     A  Play.     By  Henry  Arthur  Jones.     With  an 
Introduction  and  a  Portrait.     (3$.  6d.  net.) 

PETER'S  CHANCE.     A  Play.     By  Edith  Lyttelton. 

THE  SECRET  WOMAN.     A  Drama.     By  Eden  Phillpots. 

CURTAIN  RAISERS.     One  Act  Plays.     By  Eden  Phillpots. 

THE  FATHER.     By  August  Strindberg. 

CREDITORS.     PARIAH.     Two  Plays.     By  August  Strindberg. 

Miss  JULIA.    THE  STRONGER.   Two  Plays.    By  August  Strindberg. 

THERE  ARE  CRIMES  AND  CRIMES.     By  August  Strindberg. 

ROSES.     Four  One  Act  Plays.     By  Hermann  Sudermann. 

MORITURI.     Three  One  Act  Plays.     By  Hermann  Sudermann. 

FIVE  LITTLE  PLAYS.     By  Alfred  Sutro. 

THE  DAWN  (Les  Aubes).     By   Emile  Verhaeren.     Translated  by- 
Arthur  Symons. 

THE  PRINCESS  OF  HANOVER.    By  Margaret  L.  Woods. 


DUCKWORTH  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS         n 

The  following  may  also  be  had  in  paper  covers.  Price 
is.  6d.  net  a  volume. 

TRISTRAM  AND  ISEULT.     By  J.  Comyns  Carr.     (Paper  boards.) 

PASSBRS-BY.     By  C.  Haddon  Chambers. 

THE  LIKENESS  OF  THE  NIGHT.     By  Mrs  W.  K.  Clifford. 

THE  SILVER  Box.     By  John  Galsworthy. 

JOY.     By  John  Galsworthy. 

STRIFE.     By  John  Galsworthy. 

JUSTICE.     By  John  Galsworthy. 

THE  ELDEST  SON.     By  John  Galsworthy. 

THE  LITTLE  DREAM.     By  John  Galsworthy,     (is.  net.) 

THE  PIGEON.     By  John  Galsworthy. 

PETER'S  CHANCE.     By  Edith  Lyttelton. 

CURTAIN  RAISERS.     By  Eden  Phillpotts. 

THE  SECRET  WOMAN.     A  Censored  Drama.     By  Eden  Phillpotts. 

FIVE  LITTLE  PLAYS.     By  Alfred  Sutro. 

PLAYS.  By  Bjornstjerne  Bjornson.  (The  Gauntlet,  Beyond 
our  Power,  The  New  System.)  With  an  Introduction 
and  Bibliography.  In  one  vol.  Cr.  Svo.  6s. 

THREE  PLAYS.  By  Mrs  W.  K.  Clifford.  (Hamilton's  Second 
Marriage,  Thomas  and  the  Princess,  The  Modern  Way.) 
In  one  vol.  S<?.  post  Svo.  6s. 

PLAYS  (Volume  One).  By  John  Galsworthy.  Three  Plays 
(Joy,  Strife,  The  Silver  Box)  in  one  vol.  Post  Svo.  6s. 

PLAYS  (Volume  Two).  By  John  Galsworthy.  Three  Plays 
(Justice,  The  Little  Dream,  The  Eldest  Son)  in  one 
vol.  Small  sq.  post  Svo.  6s. 

PLAYS.  (First  Series.)  By  August  Strindberg.  (The  Dream 
Play,  The  Link,  The  Dance  of  Death,  Part  I.  ;  The 
Dance  of  Death,  Part  II.)  In  one  vol.  Cr.  Svo.  6s. 

PLAYS.  (Second  Series.)  By  August  Strindberg.  (Creditors, 
Pariah,  There  are  Crimes  and  Crimes,  Miss  Julia,  The 
Stronger.)  In  one  volume.  6s. 

PLAYS.  (Third  Series.)  By  August  Strindberg.  (Advent, 
Simoom,  Swan  White,  Debit  and  Credit,  The  Spook 
Sonata,  The  Black  Glove.)  Cr.  Svo.  6s. 

PLAYS.  By  Anton  Tchekoff.  (Uncle  Vanya,  Ivanoff,  The 
Seagull,  The  Swan  Song.)  With  an  Introduction. 
Cr.  Svo.  6s. 

REID,  STUART  J.  Sir  Richard  Tangye.  A  Life.  With  a 
portrait.  Cheaper  re-issue.  Cr.  Svo.  25.  6d.  net. 


12        DUCKWORTH  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS 

ROADMENDER  SERIES,  THE.     The  volumes  in  the  series  are 
works   with   the  same   tendency  as   Michael  Fairless's 
remarkable  book,  from  which  the  series  gets  its  name  : 
books  which  express  a  deep  feeling  for  Nature,  and  a 
mystical  interpretation  of  life.    Fcap.  8vo,  with  designed 
end  papers.     25.  (id.  ntt. 
WOMEN  OF  THE  COUNTRY.     By  Gertrude  Bone. 
THE  SEA  CHARM  OF  VENICE.     By  Stopford  A.  Brooke. 
MAGIC  CASEMENTS.     By  Arthur  S.  Cripps. 

THOUGHTS  OF  LEONARDO  DA  VINCI.     Selected  by  Edward  McCurdy. 
THE  ROADMENDER.     By  Michael  Fairless.     Also  in  limp  lambskin, 

3*.  6d.      Velvet  calf  yapp,  $s.  net.     Illustrated  Black  and  White 

Edition,  cr.  Svo,   5*.  net.       Also    Special    Illustrated   edition   in 

colour  from  oil  paintings  by  E.  W.  Waite,  7s.  6d.  net.    Edition  de 

Luxe,  I  ^s.  net. 
THE   GATHERING  OF  BROTHER    HILARIUS.     By  Michael  Fairless. 

Also  limp  lambskin,  3^.  6d.  net.      Velvet  calf  yapp,  $s.  net. 
THE  GREY  BRETHREN.     By  Michael  Fairless.    Also  limp  lambskin, 

3*.  6d.  net.     Velvet  calf  yapp,  5.?.  net. 
MICHAEL   FAIRLESS  :    LIFE  AND  WRITINGS.     By  W.  Scott  Palmer 

and  A.  M.  Haggard. 

A  MODERN  MYSTIC'S  WAY.     (Dedicated  to  Michael  Fairless.) 
FROM  THE  FOREST.     By  Wm.  Scott  Palmer. 
PILGRIM  MAN.     By  Wm.  Scott  Palmer. 
WINTER  AND  SPRING.     By  W.  Scott  Palmer. 
VAGROM  MEN.     By  A.  T.  Story. 
LIGHT  AND  TWILIGHT.     By  Edward  Thomas. 
REST  AND  UNREST.     By  Edward  Thomas. 
ROSE  ACRE  PAPERS  :    including    HOR^:  SOLITARIES.     By  Edward 

Thomas. 

ROSEN,  ERWIN.  In  the  Foreign  Legion.  A  record  of  actual 
experiences  in  the  French  Foreign  Legion.  Demy  Svo. 
New  and  Cheaper  Edition.  $s.  6d.  net. 

SOCIAL  QUESTIONS  SERIES. 

MAKERS  OF  OUR  CLOTHES.  A  Case  for  Trade  Boards.  By  Miss 
Clementina  Black  and  Lady  Carl  Meyer.  Demy  Svo.  $s.  net. 

SWEATED  INDUSTRY  AND  THE  MINIMUM  WAGE.  By  Clementina 
BLACK.  With  Preface  by  A.  G.  Gardiner.  Cloth,  crown  Svo. 
2s.  net. 

WOMEN  IN  INDUSTRY  :  FROM  SEVEN  POINTS  OF  VIEW.  With 
Introduction  by  D.  J.  Shackleton.  Cloth,  crown  Svo.  2s.  net. 

THE  WORKER'S  HANDBOOK.  By  Gertrude  M.  Tuckwell.  A  hand- 
book of  legal  and  general  information  for  the  Clergy  for  District 
Visitors,  and  all  Social  Workers.  Cr.  Svo.  2s.  net. 


DUCKWORTH  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS        13 


READERS'  LIBRARY,  THE. 

Copyright  Works  of  Individual  Merit  and  Permanent  Value 
by  Authors  of  Repute. 

Library  style.     Cr.  8vo.     Blue  cloth  gilt,  round  backs. 
2S.  6d.  net  a  volume. 

AVRIL.     By  Hilaire  Belloc.    Essays 

on    the    Poetry  of   the    French 

Renaissance. 

Esxo  PERPETDA.     By  Hilaire  Bel- 
loc.    Algerian  Studi-.s  and  Im- 
pressions. 
MEN,  WOMEN,  AND  BOOKS  :   RES 

JUDICATVE.  By  Augustine  Birrell. 

Complete  in  one  vol. 
OBITER    DICTA.      By    Augustine 

Birrell.     First  and  Second  Series 

in  one  volume. 
MEMOIRS    OF    A    SURREY 

LABOURER.     By  George  Bourne. 
THE  BETTESWORTH  BOOK.      By 

George  Bourne. 
STUDIES  IN  POETRY.    ByStopford 

A.    Brooke,    LL.D.     Essays  on 

Blake,  Scott,  Shelley,  Keats,  etc. 
FOUR    POETS.      By   Stopford    A. 

Brooke,      LL.D.       Essays      on 

Clough,   Arnold,    Rossetti,   and 

Morris. 

COMPARATIVE  STUDIES  IN  NUR- 
SERY RHYMES.    By  Lina  Ecken- 

stein.     Essays    in    a   branch    of 

Folk-lore. 
ITALIAN    POETS    SINCE    DANTE. 

Critical  Essays.     By  W.  Everett. 
VILLA     RUBEIN,     AND     OTHER 

STORIES.    By  John  Galsworthy. 
FAITH    AND   OTHER    SKETCHES. 

By  R.  B.  Cunninghame  Graham. 
PROGRESS,  AND  OTHER  SKETCHES. 

By  R.  B.  Cunninghame  Graham. 
SUCCESS  :  AND  OTHER  SKETCHES. 

By  R.  B.  Cunninghame  Grahame. 
A    CRYSTAL    AGE  :     a  Romance 

of    the    Future.       By    W.    H. 

Hudson. 
GREEN  MANSIONS.     A  Romance 

of  the  Tropical  Forest.  By  W.  H. 

Hudson. 
THE  PURPLE  LAND.    By  W.  H. 

Hudson. 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  COUNTRY. 

By  Ford  Madox  Hueffer. 
THE  SOUL  OF  LONDON.    By  Ford 

Madox  Hueffer. 
THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  PEOPLE.    By 

Ford  Madox  Hueffer. 
AFTER    LONDON  —  WILD    ENG- 
LAND.    By  Richard  Jefferies. 
AMARYLLIS   AT  THE  FAIR.     By 

Richard  Jefferies. 
BEVIS.     The  Story  of  a  Boy.     By 

Richard  Jefferies. 
THE    HILLS    AND    THE    VALE. 

Nature     Essays.       By     Richard 

Jefferies. 
THE  GREATEST  LIFE.    An  inquiry 

into  the  foundations  of  character. 

By  Gerald  Leighton,  M.D. 
ST   AUGUSTINE    AND    HIS   AGE. 

An    Interpretation.     By   Joseph 

McCabe. 
BETWEEN  THE  ACTS.    By  H.  W. 

Nevinson. 

ESSAYS.     By  Coventry  Patmore. 
ESSAYS  IN  FREEDOM.     By  H.  W. 

Nevinson. 
PARALLEL    PATHS.     A    Study  in 

Biology,    Ethics,    and   Art.     By 

T.  W.  Rolleston. 

THE  STRENUOUSLlFE,  ANDOTHER 

ESSAYS.   By  Theodore  Roosevelt. 
ENGLISH    LITERATURE    AND 

SOCIETY  IN  THE  EIGHTEENTH 

CENTURY.        By     Sir      Leslie 

Stephen. 
STUDIES  OF  A  BIOGRAPHER.    First 

Series.     Two  Volumes.     By  Sir 

Leslie  Stephen. 
STUDIES     OF     A     BIOGRAPHER. 

Second    Series.     Two  Volumes. 

By  Sir  Leslie  Stephen. 
INTERLUDES.     By  Sir  Geo.  Tre- 

velyan. 
ESSAYS  ON  DANTE.     By  Dr  Carl 

Witte. 


14        DUCKWORTH  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS 

DUCKWORTH'S  SHILLING  NET  SERIES.     Cloth,  cr.  8vo. 
CALIBAN'S  GUIDE  TO  LETTERS.     By  Hilaire  Belloc. 
THE  BRASSBOUNDER  :  a  Tale  of  Seamen's  Life  in  Sailing  Ship. 

By  David  W.  Bone. 

WRACK  :  a  Story  of  Salvage  Work  at  Sea.    By  Maurice  Drake. 
SOUTH  AMERICAN  SKETCHES.     By  W.  H.  Hudson. 
STORIES  FROM  DE  MAUPASSANT. 
SUCCESS.     By  R.  B.  Cunninghame  Graham. 

SMALLEY,  GEORGE  W.  Anglo-American  Memories.  First 
Series  (American).  With  a  photogravure  frontispiece. 
Demy  8vo.  125.  6d.  net. 

Second  Series  (English).     Demy  8vo.     125.  6d.  net. 

SPIELMANN,  Mrs  M.  H.,  and  WILHELM,  C.  The  Child  of 
the  Air.  A  Romantic  Fantasy.  Illustrated  in  colour 
and  in  line.  Sq.  cr.  8v0.  $s.  net. 

STEPHEN,  H.  L.  State  Trials :  Political  and  Social  First 
Series.  Selected  and  edited  by  H.  L.  Stephen.  With 
two  photogravures.  Two  vols.  Fcap.  8vo.  Art  vellum, 
gilt  top.  5_y.  net. 

Vol.  I.— Sir  Walter  Raleigh — Charles  I.— The  Regicides— Colonel 
Turner  and  Others— The  Suffolk  Witches— Alice  Lisle.  Vol.  II. 
— Lord  Russell — The  Earl  of  Warwick — Spencer  Cowper  and 
Others — Samuel  Goodere  and  Others. 

State  Trials :    Political  and  Social.     Second  Series. 

Selected   and   edited   by   H.    L.    Stephen.      With   two 
photogravures.     Two  vols.     Fcap.  8vo.     $s.  net. 
Vol.  I. — The  Earl  of  Essex — Captain  Lee — John  Perry — Green  and 
Others — Count  Coningsmark — Beau  Fielding.     Vol.  II. — Annes- 
ley — Carter — Macdaniell — Bernard — Byron. 

STOPFORD,  FRANCIS.  Life's  Great  Adventure.  Essays.  By 
Francis  Stopford,  author  of  "The  Toil  of  Life."  Cr. 
8vo.  Cloth.  $s.  net. 

STUDIES  IN  THEOLOGY. 

A  New  Series  of  Handbooks,  being  aids  to  interpretation  in 

Biblical  Criticism  for   the  use  of  the  Clergy,  Divinity 

Students,  and  Laymen.     Cr.  8v0.     zs.  6d.  net  a  volume. 

THE  CHRISTIAN  HOPE.     A  Study  in  the  Doctrine  of  the  Last  Things. 

By  W.  Adams  Brown,  D.D.,  Professor  of  Theology  in  the  Union 

College,  New  York. 

CHRISTIANITY  AND  SOCIAL  QUESTIONS.  By  the  Rev.  William 
Cunningham,  D.D.,  F.B.A.,  Archdeacon  of  Ely.  Formerly 
Lecturer  on  Economic  History  to  Harvard  University. 
A  HANDBOOK  OF  CHRISTIAN  APOLOGETICS.  By  the  Rev.  Alfred 
Ernest  Garvie,  M.A.,  Hon.  D.D.,  Glasgow  University,  Principal 
of  New  College,  Hampstead. 


DUCKWORTH  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS         15 

A  CRITICAL  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  OLD  TESTAMENT.     By  the  Rev. 

George  Buchanan  Gray,  M.A.,  D.  Litt. 
GOSPEL  ORIGINS.  A  Study  in  the  Synoptic  Problem.  By  the  Rev.  W. 

W.  Holdsworth,  M.A.,  Tutor  in  New  Testament  Language  and 

Literature,  Handworth  College,  Birmingham. 
FAITH  AND  ITS  PSYCHOLOGY.    By  the  Rev.  William  R.  Inge,  D.D., 

Dean  of  St  Paul's. 
PROTESTANT  THOUGHT  BEFORE  KANT.    By  A.  C.  McGiffert,  Ph.D., 

D.  D. ,  of  the  Union  Theological  Seminary,  New  York. 
THE  THEOLOGY  OF  THE  GOSPELS.     By  the  Rev.  Tames  Moffat,  B.D., 

D.D.,  of  the  U.F.  Church  of  Scotland,  sometime  Jowett  Lecturer 

in    London,    author    of    "The     Historical    New    Testament," 

"  Literary  Illustrations  of  the  Bible,"  etc. 
A  HISTORY  OF  CHRISTIAN  THOUGHT  SINCE  KANT.     By  the  Rev. 

Edward  Caldwell  Moore,  D.D.,  Parkman  Professor  of  Theology 

in  the  University  of  Harvard,  U.S.A. 
REVELATION  AND  INSPIRATION.     By  the  Rev.  James  Orr,  D.D., 

Professor  of  Apologetics  in  the  Theological  College  of  the  United 

Free  Church,  Glasgow. 
A  CRITICAL  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  NEW  TESTAMENT.     By  Arthur 

Samuel  Peake,  D.D.,  Professor  of  Biblical  Exegesis  and  Dean  of 

the  Faculty  of  Theology,  Victoria  University,  Manchester. 
PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION.       By    the    Rev.    Hastings    Rashdall, 

D.Litt.  (Oxon.),   D.C.L.  (Durham),   F.B.A.,  Fellow  and  Tutor 

of  New  College,  Oxford. 
TEXT  AND  CANON  OF  THE  NEW  TESTAMENT.     By  Prof.  Alexander 

Soater,    M.A.,    D.Litt,     Professor    of    Humanity,     Aberdeen 

University. 

CHRISTIAN  THOUGHT  TO  THE  REFORMATION.    By  Herbert  B.  Work- 
man, D.Litt.,  Principal  of  the  Westminster  Training  College. 


TOMLINSON,  H.  M.  The  Sea  and  the  Jungle.  Personal  ex- 
periences in  a  voyage  to  South  America  and  through  the 
Amazon  forests.  By  H.  M.  Tomlinson.  Demy  Svo. 
71.  6d.  net. 

TOSELLI,  ENRICO.  Memoirs  of  the  Husband  of  an  Ex- 
Crown  Princess.  By  Enrico  Toselli  (Husband  of  the 
Ex-Crown  Princess  of  Saxony).  With  a  portrait.  Cloth 
gilt,  gilt  top.  Demy  Svo.  los.  6d.  net. 

VAUGHAN,  HERBERT  M.  The  Last  Stuart  Queen :  Louise, 
Countess  of  Albany.  A  Life.  With  illustrations  and 
portraits.  Demy  Svo.  i6s.  net. 

WAERN,  CECILIA.  Mediaeval  Sicily.  Aspects  of  Life  and 
Art  in  the  Middle  Ages.  With  very  many  illustrations. 
Royal  Svo.  125.  6d.  net. 

WAYNFLETE,  ZACHARY.  Considerations.  Essays.  Edited 
by  Ian  Malcolm,  M.P.  Cr.  Svo.  Parchment  yapp 
binding.  2s.  6d.  net. 


1 6        DUCKWORTH  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS 

WILLIAMS,   ALFRED.      A   Wiltshire   Village.      A    Study   of 
English  Rural  Village  Life.     Cr.  8vo.     $s.  net. 

Villages  of  the  White  House.     Cr.  8vo.     $s.  net. 

NOVELS  AND  STORIES 

ANONYMOUS.     The  Diary  of  an  English  Girl.     Cr.  8v0.     6s. 

BEHRENS,  R.  G.     Pebble.     A  Novel.     Cr.  8vo.     6s. 

BONE,  DAVID  W.     The  Brassbounder.     A  tale  of  seamen's 

life  in  a  sailing  ship.     With  illustrations  by  the  Author. 

Cr.  8v0.     6s.     Also  is.  net  edition. 
BONE,  GERTRUDE.    Provincial  Tales.     With  frontispiece  by 

Muirhead  Bone.     Cr.  8v0.     6s. 

See  also  Roadmender  Series  for  another  book  by  Mrs  Bone. 
BONE,  MUIRHEAD  and  GERTRUDE.     Children's  Children.     A 

Tale.     With   60   drawings  by  Muirhead   Bone.     Large 

Cr.    8v0.      6s.   net.      [Vellum  Edition,  limited   to  250 

copies,  signed  and  numbered.     255.  «<?/.] 
BROOKFIELD,  CHAS.  H.     Jack  Goldie:    the  Boy  who  knew 

best.     Illustrated  by  A.  E.  Jackson.     Cr.  8v0.     3$.  6d. 
BROWN,    VINCENT.     A    Magdalen's   Husband.      A  Novel. 

Fourth  Impression.     Cr.  8v0.     6s. 

The  Dark  Ship.     A  Novel.     Cr.  8vo.     6s. 

The  Disciple's  Wife.     A  Novel.     Cr.  8v0.     6s. 

The  Sacred  Cup.     A  Novel.     Cr.  8vo.     6s. 

CALTHROP,  DION  CLAYTON.     King  Peter.    A  Novel.    With  a 

Frontispiece.     Cr.  8v0.     6s. 

See  also  Duckworth's  Two  Shilling  Net  Novels  for  another  book  by 
Dion  Clayton  Calthrop. 

CAUTLEY,    C.    HOLMES.     The  Weaving  of  the  Shuttle.     A 
Yorkshire  Novel.     Cr.  %vo.     6s. 

CLIFFORD,  Mrs  W.  K.     Woodside  Farm.     A  Novel.     Cr. 
8v0.     6s. 

CONNOLLY,  J.  B.     Wide  Courses :  Tales  of  the  Sea.     Illus- 
trated.    Cr.  8v0.     6s. 

See  also  Duckworth's  Two  Shilling  Net  Novels. 

DAVIES,  ERNEST.  The  Widow's  Necklace.  A  Tale.   Cr.  8vo.  6s. 

DAVIES,  W.  H.     Beggars.     Personal  Experiences  of  Tramp 
Life.     Cr.  Zvo.     6s. 

A  Weak  Woman.     A  Novel.     Cr.  8v0.     6s. 

The  True  Traveller.     A  Tramp's  Experiences.     Cr, 

8vo.     6s, 


DUCKWORTH  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS        17 

DAVIS,  RICHARD  HARDING.     Once  upon  a  Time.     Stories. 

Illustrated.     Cr.  Svo.     6s. 
The  Man  who  could  not  Lose.    Stories.    Illustrated. 

Cr.  Svo.     6s. 

The  Red  Cross  Girl.  Stories.   Illustrated.    Cr.  Svo.  6s. 


DE  SILVA,  A.  Rainbow  Lights :  Letters  Descriptive  of 
American  and  Canadian  Types.  Cr.  Svo.  6s. 

DODGE,  JANET.     Tony  Unregenerate.    A  Novel.    Cr.  Svo.    6s. 

DRAKE,  MAURICE.  Wrack.  A  Tale  of  the  Sea.  Cr.  Svo. 
6s.  Also  is.  net  edition. 

EAST,  H.  CLAYTON.  The  Breath  of  the  Desert.  A  Novel  of 
Egypt.  Cr.  Svo.  6s. 

FEDDEN,  Mrs  ROMILLY.  The  Spare  Room:  An  Extrava- 
ganza. Cr.  Svo.  6s. 

FILIPPI,  ROSINA.     Bernardine.     A  Novel.     Cr.  Svo.     6s. 

FOGAZZARO,  ANTONIO.  The  Poet's  Mystery.  A  Novel.  Cr. 
Svo.  6s. 

FORBES,  LADY  HELEN.  It's  a  Way  they  have  in  the  Army. 
A  Novel.  Cr.  Svo.  6s. 

The  Bounty  of  the  Gods.     A  Novel. 

The  Polar  Star.     A  Novel.     Cr.  Svo.     6s. 

GARNETT,  Mrs  R.  S.      Amor  Vincit.      A  Romance  of  the 

Staffordshire  Moorlands.     Cr.  Svo.     6s. 
See  also  Duckworth's  Two  Shilling  Net  Novels  for  another  Novel 
by  Mrs  Garnett. 

GARSHIN,  W.     The  Signal,  and  other  Stories.     Translated 

from  the  Russian. 
GLYN,  ELINOR.     Beyond  the  Rocks.     A  Love  Story.     Cr. 

Svo.     6s.     Also  is.  net  edition. 

Halcyone.     A  Novel.     Cr.  Svo.     6s. 

His  Hour.     A  Novel.     With  a  photogravure  frontis- 
piece.    Cr.  Svo.     6s.     Also  is.  net  edition. 

The  Vicissitudes   of  Evangeline.      With   Coloured 

Frontispiece.     Cr.  Svo,   6s.      Also  an  edition  in  paper 
covers,     is.  net. 

Reflections  of  Ambrosine.     With  Coloured  Frontis- 
piece.    Cr.  Svo.     6s. 

See  also  Duckworth's  Two  Shilling  Net  Novels. 

Three  Weeks.    A  Romance.    With  Coloured  Frontis 

piece.     Cr.  Svo.     6s. 

The  Visits  of  Elizabeth.    With  Photogravure  Frontis- 


piece.    Cr.  Svo.     6s.     Also  is.  net  edition, 


BOOKS  ON  APPROVAL 

MESSRS  DUCKWORTH  &  CO.'s  Publications  may  be  obtained 

through   any   good   bookseller.      Anyone   desiring  to  examine  a 

volume  should  order  it  subject  to  approval.     The  bookseller  can 

obtain  it  from  the  publishers  on  this  condition. 

The  following  Special  Lists  and  Catalogues  will  be  sent 
Post  Free  on  request  to  any  address : — 

A  GENERAL  CATALOGUE  OF  PUBLICATIONS 

A    COLOURED    PROSPECTUS   OF   NEW  ILLUSTRATED 
CHILDREN'S  BOOKS 

A  DESCRIPTIVE  LIST  OF  "THE  READERS'  LIBRARY" 

A  DESCRIPTIVE  LIST   OF    "THE    LIBRARY   OF    ART" 
AND  •«  THE  POPULAR  LIBRARY  OF  ART  " 

A  DESCRIPTIVE  LIST  OF  "THE  CROWN  LIBRARY." 
A  DESCRIPTIVE  LIST  OF  "THE  SAINTS  SERIES" 
A  LIST  OF  THEOLOGICAL  WORKS 

AND   FULL    PROSPECTUSES  OF   "THE  ROADMENDER 
SERIES"  AND  "MODERN  PLAYS" 

DUCKWORTH  &  COMPANY 
3  HENRIETTA  STREET,  COVENT  GARDEN,  LONDON 


T.  &  S. 


